


Wild Justice

by Morgan (morgan32)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Action, Angst, Case Fic, HIV, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, SenToo, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-26
Updated: 2008-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:25:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim makes a discovery about Blair that changes their friendship forever. Meanwhile, a serial killer is stalking the gay community in Cascade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

A cool breeze flowed through the apartment, fluttering the pages of a book left open on the table. The quiet music coming from the stereo had long since ended. Neither man noticed. Blair gritted his teeth for control as he slowly pushed inside his lover. His lips painted soft kisses across the bronze shoulders. He paused, briefly, to taste and the man pushed back against him, deliberately drawing Blair more deeply inside himself. 

Blair's breath sighed out of him as he let go of control at last. He loved the taste of another man's sweat on his tongue. Loved even more the tight heat of the man's anus surrounding his cock. He felt callused fingers close over his hand. The lube still on Blair's fingers ruined his lover's grip, but the intention was clear enough. He kissed the man's neck again, whispering, "Come for me, baby. I want to feel you come." He moved his lube-slick hand to stroke his lover's cock. "Come for me, Steve..."

*

It was a very tired Jim Ellison who opened the loft door an hour later. He moved quietly, not wanting to disturb Sandburg if he was sleeping. Ellison had been pulling an extra shift at the PD and had expected to be working all night. But business had been slow, and since he was on unpaid overtime anyhow he'd decided to call it a night. As he closed the door, sliding the deadbolt into place, he extended his senses throughout the apartment. It was habit by now. The lingering smell was strong, powerful, even, to Ellison's senses. Clean male sweat and semen...no corresponding female scent. Ellison smiled to himself: his friend must have had a frustrating night. He hadn't even told Jim he had a date. 

Ellison hung up his jacket and began to walk toward his bedroom. He heard the murmur of Sandburg's voice, followed by the sound of him getting up. Ellison waited, intending to say a quick hello before he went to bed. Sandburg walked out of the bedroom naked, but for the towel draped over one arm. His long hair was loose around his face, in disarray. The light behind him outlined the curves of his body. He was clearly on his way to the bathroom, and just as clearly hadn't a clue Ellison was there. Jim coughed. Blair started.

"Jim! What are you doing here?" 

"I live here," Jim reminded him.

Sandburg laughed nervously, covering himself with the towel. "I know that, man. I...I meant I thought you were working tonight."

"Even I've gotta sleep, Chief. What's the problem?"

The next moment, Ellison had his answer. Someone called from Sandburg's room: "What's taking so long, babe?" It wasn't a female voice.

Sandburg's heart was beating faster. So was Ellison's, perhaps for a very different reason. The detective quickly put two and two together. Sandburg had brought another _man_ home. Sandburg was screwing a guy in there. The hot flash of jealous anger surprised him. He took a breath. "I guess we could call this getting even," Ellison said. It was intended as a joke: it was less than two weeks since Sandburg had caught him in an almost identical situation with Lila. But Lila was dead and it wasn't funny anyway. The words sounded more like an accusation than a joke.

Sandburg began to stammer a reply.

Ellison interrupted. "Okay, Chief, I get it. I was never here. See you in work tomorrow." He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He had to get out of there before he said something they would both regret.

"Jim, wait! Let's talk about this!"

Halfway through the door, Ellison turned back. "It's okay, Chief. Not a problem. Don't be late for work." He closed the door behind him and headed downstairs at a run.

Even so, his Sentinel hearing picked up Sandburg's confused reply: "Jim...what the fuck...?"

*

_Deep-set eyes watched the two men leaving the smoke-filled bar. A sneer of contempt marred once-handsome features. Justice followed them. Easy prey, tonight._

_Oblivious to the watcher - he was a hunter, silent and deadly in this urban jungle - the couple walked out into the chill air and darkness. Justice followed them. He could see in the dark. He knew where they were going, anyway._

_Laughter drifted back to him and he felt his insides clench with rage. How dared they laugh? Filth, both of them were filth. Justice would end their laughter forever._

_He drew leather gloves from his pocket and slipped them over his large hands, in preparation for the work ahead. Reaching beneath his long coat he brought out a metal bar. This was the first instrument of Justice. It gleamed dully in the darkness._

_Justice waited._

_He heard his prey speak. The whore was asking for payment. The other man - as guilty as the whore, without doubt, though not his prey tonight - paid for his pleasure. _

_Justice moved swiftly, then. _

_His instrument took the second man down quickly. Justice was not concerned with that one. The whore cried out for help in vain. The hand of Justice silenced the whore's cries. Justice bound the whore quickly, mercilessly tight at its wrists, with a blindfold because he was not - oh, not yet - ready for the face of Justice to be known. Thus blinded, the whore struck out at him. Justice beat him down, the smooth metal bar rising and falling with a steady, relentless rhythm. Unsatisfied with that, Justice let the bar fall and laid his hands on the whore, dragging it to the ground. It tried to crawl away, and Justice forced it back. The struggle excited him. _

_Justice forced the whore to its knees and tore its clothing away. The whore had stopped fighting. Why should it fight? It had been paid for this. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock - another instrument of Justice, and just as hard. He would undress no further than that. The thought of touching the whore, flesh to flesh, was revolting, but this much was necessary. This was Justice._

_Justice took the whore swiftly. As he plunged his instrument into the whore it cried out again, and moved again. It was trying to excite him. His mouth twisted in disgust, anger spurring him on. His hands gripped the whore's neck as he thrust, forcing its face into the filth of the gutter. Where it belonged._

_He finished and pulled out of the whore with relief. He grasped the whore's shirt and yanked hard, tearing it from the whore's back. He used the scrap of material to clean himself then let it fall to the ground, looking down at his work. _

_The whore was weeping now. As if it had a right to pity or care. Its hole wept too: red blood. Justice. As he watched, the whore raised its bound hands, groping for the blindfold. **That** Justice would not allow._

_He closed his big hand into a fist and rammed it into the whore's bleeding hole. It felt good, tight flesh closing around his gloved fist as the whore's body convulsed. The whore's pain was a song in his ears. He withdrew and fisted the whore once more. _

_The whore was silent, then, and still._

_Justice removed his glove and reluctantly touched the whore's neck, seeking a pulse. The whore was still alive. Good. Justice had been delivered. Satisfied, Justice replaced the glove and searched the unconscious whore. He found a wallet, stuffed with cash. He removed the ID and cards, left the cash and put the wallet back. He found a cellphone with the wallet. His glove still covered with the whore's filth, Justice dialled 911._

_"911 Emergency," a woman's voice answered._

_"I need the police," he announced, looking down at the wreckage of a man at his feet._

_"What is your emergency and location, sir?"_

_Justice gave the address. "There's a body here. Some kid. He's dead."_

_The woman said something else, but Justice dropped the cell beside the whore's body and walked away. _

_His work was done._

*

Blair paused at the door of the major crimes section, his eyes seeking Ellison's desk. Jim was there, wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before. He was staring down at something on his desk. As Blair watched, Jim looked up in his direction, and beckoned. Blair had no option but to obey the summons.

"Been here all night?" he asked, trying to be casual. He was feeling really bad about the way Jim had reacted to finding him with Steve. The loft was _Jim's_ place. He shouldn't have felt he had to leave. 

"Yeah. Something came up." Ellison closed the file in front of him and slid it into a drawer. "Have fun last night?"

"Aw, Jim, I'm really sorry..."

Ellison interrupted. "Chief, there's nothing to be sorry about. But I don't think this is the place to discuss it."

_In other words, fucking shut up_, Blair translated to himself. He shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"After I left you last night, I answered a call to a crime scene. A young man was raped." 

"Oh." Blair gulped, looked around for a chair and sat down. 

"I don't _have_ to take this case. It's not exactly my usual territory. But after what I saw last night, I want to take it. Will you be okay with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Blair answered. What was this? Concern for his feelings? From _Jim_? Not that Jim was the insensitive type, but he'd never asked Blair if a case would give him trouble before. Jim was more _if it lands on my desk, we take it_ as a general rule.

Ellison nodded. "I appreciate that. We need to go out to the hospital and talk with the victim. First, I want to check out the crime scene again. I don't think seeing it in daylight will turn up any new evidence but there might be someone around who can tell us something."

"No problem. Have you slept at all, Jim? Or had breakfast?"

"No to both. I can skip a night's sleep without problems."

"Can we get breakfast first, then?" _And talk about last night?_

"No time for that, Chief."

*

It was a narrow alley in a low-rent neighbourhood. The rear of an apartment building loomed above them. The neighbourhood was familiar to Blair: he had been near this place the evening before. The nightclub where he ran into Steve was at most two hundred yards away. The alley was full of broken glass and overturned trashcans. It might have been evidence of a struggle, but could just as easily have been neglect.

"This is where it happened?" Blair asked, unnecessarily.

"Yeah." He was looking up at the building. "Someone up there must have seen something. Or heard it."

"If they did I doubt they'll tell us much. We're too close to the gay quarter." He glanced at his friend. "You _did_ know that..."

"Of course I know. Still, it won't hurt to do a little door-to-door." Jim was still looking up. A group of children were leaning over a railing several storeys up, watching them.

"The victim...you didn't tell me his name."

"I don't know it yet. Last night I just wanted to get him to a hospital, stat."

"Well...you said young man. How young?"

"About twenty six would be my guess. Are you onto something?"

Blair nodded. "I was thinking, given where we are, he could have been a professional. I've heard a couple of them use this building."

"Professional? You mean prostitute?" 

Blair nodded again. 

"Could be. But what happened here was an assault. Not a disagreement over a fee. We'll find out when we talk to him." He sighed. "No, there's nothing new here. Let's head to the hospital. We'll come back and look for witnesses once we have a statement."

Neither of them talked on the way to the hospital. Blair knew better than to raise personal issues at work, but he wished someone else had drawn this case. It was a little too close to home, particularly today.

It was unusual for Blair to bring a lover home. Never, before the previous night, had he brought a male lover home. He hadn't even been with a man since he met Jim: he hadn't felt the need. Blair _did_ enjoy the gay scene, though, and he often spent his nights out in...well, the kinds of clubs he was fairly sure Jim would never be seen dead  in. Running into Steve the night before had been a surprise. Steve was a very old friend who had left Cascade years before and was back in town for a few days. Blair hadn't been able to resist the invitation to take a trip down memory lane...and with Jim supposedly out all night it had seemed safe. 

Now, he was kicking himself. The more so because Jim had agreed they should talk about it, but seemed to avoid every chance they got to do so.

*

 "Feeling any better, Chief?" Ellison placed a steaming mug of coffee into Blair's hands. They were in a coffee shop just around the corner from the Police Department. Jim, Blair noticed, hadn't bought a drink for himself. 

Blair took a sip of the coffee, burning his mouth. "I'll live. I just...I guess I didn't think that sort of thing could happen in Cascade." Even as he spoke, Blair knew it sounded naive. He'd seen so much since joining Cascade PD, he should know by now that anything was possible in this city. Why did this case bother him so much?

Because he knew the victim?

Jim hadn't been prepared for that, he knew. Which was probably why they were here instead of back at the office. 

They had visited the hospital and spend a fruitless half hour trying to get a badly beaten young man to talk to them. Blair had recognised him immediately: Carl Jeffries. But the moment Carl had seen Ellison's detective shield he had clammed up. Wouldn't make a statement, wouldn't discuss it at all. Then they'd spent an equally pointless afternoon looking for witnesses to the crime. Someone must have seen or heard _something_. No one was talking. No one cared.

"If you want off this case, you only have to say so, Sandburg."

"No...I'm good, man." He swallowed more coffee, the bitter taste keeping him in the present. 

"In that case, what can you tell me about Jeffries?"

Down to business. It might even help. Blair put the mug down and thought about the question. "I barely know him, Jim. We've had a few conversations, that's all. Carl works part time behind the bar at the circus - that's a nickname for Rocky's nightclub. He turns tricks to make rent. Not often, as far as I know."

"Do you think that's why he was attacked?"

"I don't know. It would explain why he wouldn't talk to us. Probably afraid you'd bust him for it. What kind of sick bastard could _do_ this?"

"Sick is right. Whoever it was, he did a thorough job. I'd really hate to have to file this unsolved."

"You're not going to do that, are you? Jim, we can't let this guy get away with it!"

"No witnesses. No suspects. No motive. The victim won't talk to us. Without his statement, it's not even an official investigation. We have the forensic evidence, but at the moment there's nothing we can do with it. I've asked for a DNA workup and I'll run it through the database when we have it, but the odds of that turning anything up are slim."

"So we just give up?"

"I don't want to, but until we have something more, that's all we can do."

"I'll talk to Carl. The badge scared him, that's all. If I can convince him you won't try to charge him with solicitation he'll probably give us that statement."

"Good idea. Better give him a few days first, though."

Blair nodded as he finished his coffee. "I'll go back in a day or so."

*

The television was on but Ellison had turned the sound right down. He wasn't watching the program, he was watching Sandburg, reflected in the screen. Sandburg was in the kitchen, busily gathering ingredients for his latest culinary miracle. Ellison did enjoy having a roommate who could cook. 

He was glad Sandburg hadn't tried to bring up the previous night while they were at work. It gave him time to think about what happened. He walked out of the loft because he knew he would have said the wrong thing. He'd been taken by surprise. Unfortunately, leaving had probably given Sandburg the wrong impression, too. Now he would have to try to fix that.

Jim Ellison trusted Blair more than anyone else he knew. It hurt that Sandburg apparently didn't trust him the same way. The liaison had obviously been secret: Sandburg had been shocked when Ellison walked in. Why hadn't Sandburg just told him he was dating another man?

"Sandburg!" he called, not turning around. 

Sandburg came toward him, wiping his hands on a towel. Ellison opened his senses, and heard Sandburg's heart beating, steady and normal. 

"Look, man, I'm really sorry about last night. Steve's an old friend, and he's flying back to New York tomorrow. We were just catching up."

"On the Kama Sutra?" Jim's reply was automatic, immediately regretted. Sandburg's heartbeat was a little faster. Ellison pointed to the couch and waited as Sandburg sat down, tossing the towel onto the table. Sandburg didn't answer Ellison's question.

"It's not what you were doing we need to talk about, Chief. You bring girlfriends home all the time. So...you're not gay."

"Quite the detective," Sandburg said, the sarcasm defensive. "I'm bisexual."

It was the defensiveness that worried Ellison. "It's not a problem, Sandburg," he tried to reassure his friend. "We've been living together for two years. I thought we trusted each other. What have I ever said or done to make you think you couldn't trust me with this?" He heard Sandburg's breathing stop for a moment as the blue eyes opened wide with surprise. Their eyes met and then Sandburg looked away again.

"You really want to know?"

"I really want to know. You've been acting like you're afraid of me or something."

Sandburg sighed. "You've never _said_ anything, Jim. You never did anything. But a lot of the guys we work with _do_, and you've never done anything to stop it, either."

"So you figured I agreed with them?"

Sandburg nodded unhappily. 

"You couldn't be more wrong." Ellison ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't blame Sandburg for getting this one wrong. "I was in the army, remember? If you disapprove of that sort of talk, you keep your mouth shut if you don't want to be the target of it. It's a habit now. You're right, Chief - I do hear a lot of homophobic crap around the office, and I do ignore it. Maybe I shouldn't. But all the cops I work with know how I feel about this."

Sandburg was watching him silently, taking in every word.

"Why do you think I took on that case today?"

"You were the detective on the scene. You had to take it, didn't you?"

"I wasn't on duty. I took it on to make sure it was investigated properly, because I know some cops wouldn't do it. They'd see _male hooker sexually assaulted on gay street_ and they wouldn't look any deeper. I do. The rest of them know that."

"What are you saying, Jim? That _you're _gay?"

Ellison hesitated. It was a more complex question than Sandburg knew. Ellison never thought of himself as anything other than straight. If he was honest with himself, though, he couldn't deny his feelings for...for certain men in his past. Nor could he repress certain vivid fantasies involving one man in his present. The same man whose blue eyes were at that moment looking into his own, a slight frown creasing the forehead above them. And Ellison blinked and looked away as a long-buried memory surfaced: the wild, impossible night that had turned his entire self-image inside out, so many years before.

After a long silence, Ellison heard himself confess, "No, I'm not gay. But I've...been there. A long time ago."

"Oh." Sandburg nodded, apparently understanding. "I guess we both held out on each other."

"I didn't hold out on you!" Ellison protested. "It's my _past_." Even as he spoke he was conscious of the half-truth. "I might have told you if you'd asked, I just never saw the point of bringing it up. But this is your present. Not the same thing."

"Not that different, man."

"Guilty as charged, then. I held out on you. Happy?" Again Sandburg didn't answer. Ellison sighed. "Look, we've already talked about groundrules for bringing a date back here. For the record, I don't care if you're dating a man or a woman. The groundrules are no different. You with me?"

A slow, relieved smile, and Sandburg's heartbeat steadied to normal. "Yeah. Thanks, man."

"So, what are you cooking?"

Sandburg threatened him with chilli, and after a good-natured argument they settled on pasta. They cooked and ate together, making casual conversation. It didn't quite qualify as back to normal, but it was close. At least Sandburg seemed happier.

Sandburg was right: Ellison _had_ held out on him. They'd talked about past relationships - not in detail, but the opportunity to speak had been there. Why hadn't he mentioned it? If Sandburg had thought Jim might react badly to the truth about his sexuality, Ellison had no such excuse. Sandburg was nothing if not open minded on that subject. Ellison had assumed he was straight, but never thought he was homophobic. So why hadn't he mentioned it? For the simple reason that it was _too_ personal. He was used to pretending it never happened...

And because that particular confession to Sandburg might lead to others. Ellison hadn't wanted to go down that road when he was sure Sandburg would turn away his advances.

He was learning that enhanced senses didn't help when he couldn't see the forest for the trees.

Was it too late? They were firmly in 'just friends' mode now. Perhaps they were better off that way; things would certainly be less complicated. Did he really have a problem with complicated? 

Ellison was watching Sandburg's hands while they ate, taking in the way he moved, admiring the smooth skin. He didn't even realise he was doing it until one of those hands reached toward him, resting on his forearm and Sandburg spoke sharply.

"Hey! Stay with me, man."

Ellison regained focus quickly. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what? I've never seen you zone out like that when we're not on the job."

"I didn't..." The denial rose to his lips automatically. But he _had_ been close to zoning out.

"Close to it," Sandburg insisted, echoing Ellison's thought exactly. "What's up, man? Is it the case?"

"No." 

"Then...?"

They'd done the deep and meaningful talk already. Two talks like that in one day was over Ellison's limit. Two talks like that in one _year_ would be more like it... He shrugged. "Curiosity. None of my business."

Blair pushed his plate aside. "So this is about last night?" 

Jim agreed that it was.

"Curiosity, huh?" Sandburg looked up and their eyes met. Sandburg had a speculative look in his eyes; the same look he got when they discovered some new aspect of Ellison's Sentinel abilities. "You can ask me if I can ask you one," he said eventually. It was a kind of challenge.

"Aren't we a bit old for Truth or Dare?"

"You're the one who's 'curious'." 

Sandburg's casual shrug didn't fool Ellison for a second. The kid was itching to ask him something, and Ellison was fairly sure he could guess the question. He leaned back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. "Go ahead, Chief."

Blair's mouth dropped open. He obviously hadn't expected that. After a moment, he asked his question. "You said 'a long time ago'. Have you thought about it since? Being with a guy, I mean."

"I've thought about it," Ellison admitted. "I've never acted on it."

"Why not?"

"That's two questions," Ellison pointed out. Was Sandburg asking for the reason he hoped? 

Sandburg grinned wryly. "You can't blame me for trying. Okay...shoot."

It was Jim's last chance to back out. He no longer wanted to. "Top or bottom?" he asked, deliberately blunt.

Sandburg's jaw dropped for the second time in as many minutes. He blushed hot, then looked at Ellison. "I...um..." He swallowed. "Well...it's not as simple as that, man. But...I'm mostly top. I switch." He swallowed again. "Why in hell would you ask me that?"

"Why do you think?" Ellison, more confident now, allowed a smile to touch his lips. "I wanted to know if we'd be compatible. Seems we might."

"You _serious_?" Sandburg's voice slid toward soprano.

"Yeah."

"So...?"

"So...what?"

"Jim, I'm about to kill you!"

Ellison laughed and reached across the table. Without the advantage of his enhanced senses, Ellison knew he would never have done it. But he could hear Sandburg's increased heart rate, he could see the slight dilation of his pupils and feel his raised temperature in the radiant heat of the other man's body. Unmistakable signs of arousal.

Leaning toward his friend, Ellison laced his fingers through Sandburg's thick hair. He gave his friend plenty of opportunity to pull away. When it was clear that he wouldn't, Ellison closed the distance between them and covered Sandburg 's lips with his own. Sandburg responded at once, parting his lips beneath the kiss. Instantly Ellison was drowning in the taste of him. Beneath the strong taste of the food they had eaten was a residue of coffee, but it was the unique taste of _Blair_ that was overwhelming. He was _kissing_ Sandburg! His hands held the other man close as he explored his mouth, careful to keep a rein on his senses. It wouldn't do to zone out during a moment like this. 

The kiss went on for a long time. Finally, they broke apart. Sandburg's eyes were closed, his lips swollen from the kiss. "Wow," he whispered as his eyes opened.

"Did you just zone on me, Chief?"

That earned him a laugh. "I guess...a little. Geez, Jim, if I'd known you could kiss like that I wouldn't have waited so long."

Ellison, his hand still in Sandburg's curls, rubbed the younger man's cheek with his thumb. "If I'd known you wanted me to kiss you, I wouldn't have made you wait." He glanced down at the table: the remains of their meal were still scattered around. "C'mon, let's clear this stuff away."

"Huh?"

"We can continue this...uh...conversation when the place is tidy."

Ellison suppressed a smile at Sandburg's frustrated sigh. He didn't need Sentinel hearing to know what the young man was muttering under his breath.


	2. Two

_The abomination wore the face of innocence. It was past time for this one to meet Justice. He watched for some time, getting to know his prey. He saw others - filth, all of them - drawn to the youthful face, wide eyes and sunny smile. Justice waited in the shadows for his prey to be alone. Knowing what his work would be that night made him hard._

_Justice moved forward then, and the smiling eyes met his. Justice looked past the surface innocence and saw corruption and evil. He masked his disgust with an inviting smile and honeyed words, and had to swallow his contempt at how easily this one was deceived. Justice made an offer, then, which was accepted, and he led the guilty one out into the darkness._

_The alley behind the bar stank of refuse and human waste. He briefly considered finding some other place, but he was eager to deliver Justice to this one. Too eager. He stood while the boy demonstrated the depth of his corruption; as young hands reached for him, touching him. Oh, yes, this one deserved Justice. This one he would enjoy._

_The boy's hand found bare flesh. Angered by the presumption, Justice acted, throwing the boy to the ground. He heard a cry. He descended on the boy with fervour._

_The abomination's denial of its guilt was expected, and ignored. Its pleas would not be heard. It was a whore, just like all the others. Justice silenced it with a hand over its mouth. The boy's wrists were quickly bound. It had already seen the face of Justice, so he didn't bother to cover its eyes. He used the blindfold to fill the boy's lying mouth instead._

_Fabric tore beneath the hands of Justice as he opened the boy to him. Still the boy struggled against him.  He beat the boy down. He felt bone break beneath his hands and laughed at the boy's battle to scream past the rag filling its mouth. He shoved his gloved fist into the boy's ass. The boy stank of fear. It was good. It knew Justice._

_He fucked the boy then. Not for pleasure - oh, never that - only because it was necessary. Finished, he lifted the boy off the filthy ground, looking into its face. Now the lying innocence was gone from those eyes forever._

_Justice unbound the whore and began to walk away. _

_The idiot boy came after him. Justice registered a flash of silver and reacted automatically to the threat. A single blow sent the boy crashing into the wall. It fell amongst the broken crates and did not move again._

_Justice had been done._

*

Blair woke, instantly aware that he wasn't alone. A wonderful feeling of euphoria rose up inside him. He turned his head and saw Jim beside him. Oh, yeah...

Memories of the night they had shared flooded back. Jim kissing him. Jim helping Blair to undress him. Jim's hands on his body, in his hair... Jim's gentle urgency, the enticing curve of his bare buttocks, the muscles of his back and shoulders straining as Blair pushed inside him. Their fingers laced together, gripping the sheets in the same, convulsive moment...

He leaned over to kiss Jim awake and found it wasn't necessary: Jim was already awake. He kissed him anyway, slow and passionate, a reminder of the night, and a promise.

Blair could feel his partner's arousal but Ellison pulled away with a groan. "We're running late."

"Once won't hurt," Blair suggested, seeking his mouth again.

"Mmm... We must do this again some time." Ellison allowed the kiss but then pulled away firmly. "Gotta go to work."

"Same time tonight?"

"Count on it, Chief."

Blair sighed, giving in. "Race you to the shower?" he said, beginning to get up.

Ellison caught Blair's arm and pulled him back down onto the bed, kissing him hard. He rolled them both over until he was on top of Blair's body, holding him down. Blair relaxed beneath him as they kissed. Then Ellison rolled over to the other side of the bed and let go. He made a break for the shower.

Blair swore, but it was too late to make a fair race of it. Besides, he wasn't really angry. He was too happy for that.

This was a side of Jim he'd seen hints of before, but never really known. Jim as a lover: playful and passionate. So different from the abrasive detective he was during daylight hours. 

*

"Ellison!" Banks barked the second they walked into the department. "Where the hell have you been?"

Ellison glanced at his watch. "Didn't realise we were late, sir." He knew. Despite knowing they were running late, it had proved impossible to hurry that morning. Each necessary task had been interrupted by quick kisses, or touches, or simply memories of the night just past. The world was a different place today...except in this room. 

"We have another murder for you," Banks announced.

_Yeah, just another day in friendly Cascade._ Jim took the details from Banks without further comment. When he heard the address, though, he did spare a glance for his partner. 

"That's right around the corner from where Carl was - " Sandburg began.

Banks interrupted, "That's why _you_ have the case. If there's a connection, I want to know about it. Forensics are on the scene now, Ellison. So move!"

They moved.

*

When they reached the scene, the medics were just zipping up the body-bag. Ellison stopped them, wanting to examine the body. The victim was just a kid, seventeen or eighteen, Ellison guessed. There were some facial lacerations, and the kid's neck was broken. Ellison ran his fingertips over the bruises on the victim's wrists. The impressions felt like cloth. 

He heard Sandburg's breathing falter and glanced up, concerned. Did Blair know this victim also? Sandburg met his eyes and shook his head briefly. "I don't know him, Jim."

Ellison closed the body bag and waved them on, turning his attention to the forensic examiner. "Anything you can tell me?"

She was all business. "The victim had been dead approximately five hours when I got here. That would place time of death between two and three in the morning. No ID on the body. Cause of death is a broken neck, but that's only the beginning. Violent assault, sexual assault...nasty stuff."

"Rape?"

"Looks like it. I can tell you more when I've completed an autopsy."

"We'll talk later, then." Jim was already searching the rest of the scene. The smell around here was disgusting. White chalk outlined the position of the body on the ground. Splintered wood surrounded the place where the body was found. They were at the rear of a bar. Crates that once held beer bottles lined the wall, many of them broken. Most of the breaks looked old, except around the chalk. There was a lot of trash scattered around... Ellison zeroed in on the broken crates, seeing some threads of fabric caught in the wood. Still, the broken crates were the only obvious signs of a struggle. Ellison borrowed a pair of latex gloves and slipped the threads into an evidence bag. 

It was then he noticed the scent in the air. It was extremely faint, even to Ellison's senses. Something like cheap aftershave. Something he recognised. He had smelled the same thing, much stronger, at the earlier crime scene. He thought it was Jeffries' cologne: the scent had been all over him. Now he realised he was wrong. This had come from the killer.

The owner of the bar had discovered by the body. Ellison and Sandburg made that their next stop. The bar owner wasn't able to tell them much. He admitted to having seen the victim before, but that was all. Ellison was sure there was more to tell. It wasn't unusual for people to be reluctant to assist cops: everyone was guilty of _something_. He had very little patience with that attitude, however. Ellison was about to apply a little pressure when Sandburg did it for him. 

Sandburg had held back while Ellison questioned the man. When he spoke, it was quietly. "Mel, was the kid a regular?"

Mel answered firmly, "The kid's underage."

Ellison glanced at his partner in surprise. That counted as a _yes_.

Sandburg shook his head. "The kid's _dead_, Mel, and he wasn't killed with kindness. Look, man, this is a lot more serious than serving a couple of drinks to a minor. We need to know. Was he here last night?"

Mel's eyes slid to Ellison and he nodded, obviously reluctant. "I wasn't here last night. I was sick. But...yeah, the kid was a regular. Called himself Vincent, but I'll lay odds that name won't match his ID."

"Is that all you can tell us?" Ellison asked.

"The rest is like I told you. I came in this morning to check the stocks. I gotta order today. I found a couple of trash bags in the back, so I took them outside. That's when I found him. I called nine-one-one right away."

Ellison nodded. "If you think of anything else that might help, give us a call." He handed over a card with his name and number. "I should give you a hard time about serving kids. But Blair's right - a homicide is a lot more important than that. Do call if you think of anything."

As they left, Ellison turned to his partner. "You _know_ that guy?"

Sandburg shook his head. "Only a little. I know the bar. I come here, sometimes."

"But you don't know the victim?"

"I've been thinking, man, but no. I can't remember ever seeing him." Sandburg looked at his partner quizzically. "What? I'm not a regular, man. Mel runs a fuckshop, not a nightclub."

"But you go there sometimes?" The words sounded harsher than Ellison intended.

Sandburg flashed him a quick grin. "Well...not any more."

How did he know exactly what Ellison needed to hear? Ellison nodded. "As long as we've got _that_ straight," he said gruffly.

*

The photographs told their own story. Blair's hand shook as he turned to the next. The pictures, about to be turned over to the DA's office, set out in cold, stark images the damage that had been done to Carl Jeffries. If - _when_ \- they caught the man responsible, these would be part of the evidence against him. Jim was right: there was no way this was a trick gone wrong. This was a deliberate, violent assault. Rape - just the icing on the cake. Carl was lucky to be alive.

Was it possible Carl had gone willingly with his attacker? Perhaps thinking it was a normal transaction? That would explain a few things.

Whoever had done this was sick. Evil.

Blair, feeling a little sick himself. slid the photographs back into the buff envelope. "We've got to get this son of a bitch, Jim."

Jim nodded grimly. "We will. We're looking for a killer now."

"You think it's the same man?"

"Forensics will confirm it, but I'm sure already. The MO is the same. The bruises on the face and wrists of the kid we found this morning match these pictures. Whoever our man is, he's just getting warmed up."

"A serial killer?" Blair shuddered, looking at the envelope he held, seeing the pictures again in his mind's eye. 

"Could be. But the boy we found this morning was assaulted before he died. I think the death was an accident: the killer intended for him to be found like Jeffries. Only now that he's killed once..."

"Stop that!" 

Jim frowned. "What?" He sounded genuinely confused.

"These are real people, Jim! Stop talking about Carl like he's exhibit A." 

The sudden silence in the room testified how far Blair's words had carried. He muttered an apology. After a few moments, people resumed conversations, went back to work.

Jim reached across and took the envelope from Blair's hand, stroking Blair's fingers briefly as he did. "I know they're real people, Chief. And I'm a real cop. It's my job to stay detached." He met Blair's eyes, concern shining from his. "I think you should sit this one out, Chief. It's a little close to home for you, isn't it?"

"I can handle it," Blair answered firmly. "You might need me, man." This was the second time Jim had suggested Blair should withdraw from this case. What was going on?

At least Jim seemed to accept his answer. "I need to talk with Forensics. Could you do a little research for me while I do that?"

"Sure. That's what I'm good at!" Blair smiled, a little happier. "What do you want to know?"

"See if we have any other unsolved male rapes or sexual assaults on record in the past year. If you don't find anything sexual, look for violent assaults on gay men by a single perpetrator."

"You think Carl wasn't the first."

"That's what I want to find out. Just check, Chief."

Blair turned to the computer and started work.

*

Ellison stared down into his cup of coffee. If he used his Sentinel vision, he could see the tiny cracks in the porcelain mug. He was trying to block everything else out. What he'd just heard made this case personal.

While that poor kid was being killed, Ellison had been making love with Blair...

_His hands stroking the younger man's shoulders and chest, fingertips learning and memorising every inch of bare skin...the sharp scent of their combined arousal filling the air around them...hot breath on his neck...a hard cock entering him...that first breaching had been agony, Jim's senses too open, savouring the experience. He'd gotten past it by focussing on the scents around them: his own musk, Blair's sweat, latex and lubricant...pain faded quickly, forgotten at once, and what followed had probably been the best experience of his life. Ever._

There was nothing Ellison could have done to prevent the murder. Still, the contrast had already brought this case a little too close. His comments to Sandburg earlier had been, if he was honest with himself, as much a reflection of his own feelings as his perception of Sandburg's. _Mel runs a fuckshop, not a nightclub._ Sandburg said that so casually, with no apparent thought of how the words would sound to a man he had just slept with. He'd even admitted to visiting Mel's "fuckshop" occasionally.

Now every time Ellison closed his eyes he saw Sandburg's body in that alley.

_When he walked out of the loft, leaving Sandburg with his one-night-stand, Ellison headed straight back to Cascade PD. He was still on the road when the call went out for any cop near the site of the first assault. Ellison answered the call, and had been first on the scene, ahead of the paramedics as well as the cops._

_The smell of blood in the backstreet was overpowering. All of Ellison's senses on alert, he approached what he was expecting to be a dead body, and suddenly became aware of a heartbeat. He moved fast, then, calling in on his cell to make sure paramedics were on the way, and kneeling at the victim's side to see if he could help. His enhanced vision made the young man's injuries very clear to him. The man was unconscious, and Ellison thought that was probably a blessing. His clothing was badly torn, barely hanging on his body, his flesh exposed and bruised. His ass was as torn as the clothing, bleeding badly, and as Ellison concentrated on separating out the smells, he recognised semen among them. There was a strong smell of cologne on the man's body as well. _

_Ellison heard the siren of an ambulance and headlights flooded the area with light. Ellison squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden invasion, waving his detective shield so there would be no confusion over what he was doing here. The paramedics did their job quickly and efficiently. He only had to tell them once to be careful not to disturb any evidence. _

_By the time they left, a couple of patrol cars had arrived, and Ellison was able to put the victim's injuries out of his mind and concentrate on being a cop._

He sighed to himself, finishing the coffee. Just the thought of finding Blair like that made his blood turn to ice. All the more so after what he had just been told. Even before last night, Blair Sandburg had been the most important person in his life. Ellison owed the young anthropologist so much. Without his help, he would never have been able to keep his job when his senses began to spin out of control. He wasn't sure he would have kept his sanity. Sandburg's passion for his research never once overcame his awareness of Ellison as a person: a man who needed help. Together they had figured out what was happening to him, where the limits were. Most importantly, Ellison had learned to control it, dial back his senses when they might get in the way, and turn them back on when he needed. His control wasn't perfect: probably it never would be. But what he had he knew he owed to Blair.

Ellison heard Sandburg's footsteps as he entered the room and turned to greet him with a smile. Blair's eyes met his with an answering smile. This intimacy between them was new. Ellison could definitely get used to it.

Sandburg pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. "Nice job you gave me there, man."

Ellison ignored the mild accusation. "Did you find anything?" Sandburg was carrying a printout, presumably of whatever he had pulled out of the database.

"Nothing with the same MO. There are a couple of unsolved assault cases we should probably check out. Nothing else in this state. I can do an interstate search if you want."

"No, let's hold off on that for a while. It's just instinct, but I think we're looking for someone local." Pushing his empty coffee cup away, he added quietly, "There's a lot of forensic evidence. The DA's going to be able to convict on that alone. First we have to catch him." Aware of other people around them, he kept his voice low. "Chief, I want you to talk to Jeffries again. We've got to have his statement sooner rather than later."

Sandburg nodded. "I'll go out there now if you want. But...is there something you're not telling me? Why is it more urgent now than it was an hour ago?"

Ellison swallowed. "The hospital knows, but I need you to keep this quiet until I've had a chance to talk to Simon. I'm going to ask him to put a high priority on this, and I'll need the ammo."

"Okay. Sure." 

"The man we're looking for...he's infected with HIV."

"Oh, man." Sandburg pushed his hair out of his face, closing his eyes. "Oh, man. Poor Carl."

*

For once, not being a "real" cop had paid off. Blair talked with Carl at the hospital for more than three hours, taking notes and eventually writing up a formal statement. Blair waited with Carl until Jim arrived to witness the statement: that part had to be done by a real cop. Carl wouldn't even look at Jim, and Blair knew he wouldn't have talked to a cop, even though Carl desperately wanted the man who hurt him caught and punished. It had been a difficult three hours, made harder still for Blair by his awareness that Carl's ordeal wasn't over. Not by a long way. Blair hadn't told him what he knew. Even if Jim hadn't asked him to keep quiet, he wouldn't have known _how_ to tell something like that.

While Blair was at the hospital, Jim had made progress elsewhere. Then they'd gone together to speak with the two men Carl named in his statement. Now, they were back at Cascade PD. A room dedicated to the investigation had been set up, and a team of detectives was now gathered there.

"Victim number one: Carl Jeffries. Twenty six years old." Jim stood to one side of the display board as he spoke. The board held a map of the area where both victims had been found, and pictures. Nothing else...yet. 

Blair fixed his eyes on the photograph of Carl, listening to Jim's presentation. He just wanted the day to be over.

"Jeffries is a prostitute. According to his statement, he left Rocky's nightclub with a customer. He's confused about the details. They were on their way to Jeffries'...ah...place of work, when they were, he thinks, both taken from behind. Jeffries was bound and blindfolded, assaulted and raped. The nine-one-one call was anonymous, made with Jeffries own cellphone. The voice on the tape is a man's; it could be the perpetrator. From the evidence, we believe his attacker intended to leave Jeffries alive."

"Could his customer be our perp?" one of the detectives asked.

"Jeffries identified his client as Roland Harper. Sandburg and I interviewed him this afternoon, and he volunteered to provide a blood sample for DNA matching. The results will tell us if he's our man, but right now I'm assuming he's not. Harper's statement is consistent with Jeffries' account of events and he has a head injury that doesn't look self-inflicted. I believe him."

Jim pinned a second photograph on the board. "Victim number two. David Taliaferro, known as 'Vincent'. Seventeen years old. He was found dead this morning in an alley behind a bar called Paradise. Cause of death: broken neck, with extensive injuries to the rest of his body. Taliaferro had also been sexually assaulted prior to death." Jim turned to his partner. "Chief, you want to take over here?"

Blair nodded, taking a deep breath. "Paradise is a low-class gay bar. Basically it's a pick up shop. We know Vincent was a regular face at Paradise but we haven't been able to place him there last night. Jim and I spoke with his parents this morning. They hadn't seen him for three days, but they weren't worried until we showed up. Apparently it wasn't unusual for Vincent to disappear for days at a time. Vincent's record is clean."

"Thanks, Chief." Jim turned to the room again. "Forensic evidence confirms that we're looking for the same perpetrator in both cases. We also know the perpetrator is HIV positive."

"Christ," someone muttered.

Jim went on, "Bottom line: there's every reason to believe this man will strike again. Profiling isn't my area, but the choice of victims doesn't seem random to me. We're probably looking for a gay or bisexual man..."

"Um..." Blair interrupted. "I think you're wrong about that, Jim." All eyes in the room turned to him. "I've been thinking about this. It feels like revenge to me. Carl and Vincent: they're both promiscuous gay men. HIV is spread through blood and semen, and the injuries both men suffered were...extreme. I think the rapist recently learned he has HIV. He doesn't think of himself as gay. Gays are his target. He blames them for his illness."

"He'd be right, wouldn't he?"

Blair didn't see who spoke. Jim clearly had. He stared right at one of the men at the table, his eyes cold. "No, he wouldn't. Don't ever say that again where I can hear it. Understand me, Thomas?" He went on without waiting for a reply. "If anyone in this room has a problem with defending the lives of these men because they're gay, you can leave now. Let me remind you we're looking for a killer. It's not our job to judge the victims."

"Whoa. Ellison. I didn't mean..."

"Yes. You did. Can it." This time Jim waited, and got silence.

Blair looked at the cop who had spoken out: he was a new face, not someone Blair had met before.

"There'll be a police patrol in that area tonight," Jim went on, "and every night until we catch this guy. Sandburg and I will check out the other nightspots in the area. We won't be undercover, but I won't flashing my badge around, either. The rest of you will visit Rocky's and Paradise this evening, as cops. See if anyone is willing to come forward and talk to us."

"Why are we throwing all our resources into this?" Taggert asked. 

It was Banks who fielded that one. "Because Detective Ellison convinced me it's important enough. No one's ignoring our other cases, but this one gets priority for today."

Jim added, "Sandburg could be right about the killer's motivations. What we know for sure is he's a sick bastard with a taste for rape, and he's escalating. I'd like to stop him _before_ this turns into a hunt for a serial killer." He waited for Taggert's acknowledgement before continuing. "Any more questions?"

*

The music hurt his ears. For the first half hour they were there, that was Ellison's sole clear impression of the club. It was dark, it was smoky and the music was too damned loud. He couldn't even tune it out the way he usually did, because he needed all his senses alert. Sandburg, on the other hand, seemed to be having a great time. 

Back at the loft they'd talked about what they needed to do that evening. It wasn't much of a strategy: try to blend in and see how the community was reacting to the recent events. So far the media seemed to be ignoring it: an omission Ellison was grateful for. People who had known the two victims, however, would undoubtedly be talking about what had happened. Ellison knew that as inaccurate as gossip often was, it was possible to learn a lot from it. There was also the possibility, however unlikely, of spotting the killer. 

He remembered the look on Sandburg's face as they'd prepared to leave. The day had been tough on his partner. More sensitive than usual to the younger man's mood, he had stopped Sandburg at the door. Running his hands down Sandburg's leather-clad arms, he held him close for a moment. He leaned down and kissed Blair briefly. "I couldn't leave without doing that," he smiled.

"Do that again."

Ellison took longer over the second kiss. Much longer. "Better, Chief?"

"For now. Jim...you want us to blend in tonight, don't you?"

"Well...as far as possible. Somehow I doubt I'll look the part whatever I do."

"You might be surprised. 'Gay' doesn't mean transvestite, you know. Jim, I _can_ blend in - easy. But if we're not going as a couple..."

"We're not." He stroked Sandburg's hair briefly. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy a date... You can enjoy yourself, Chief. I need to remember I'm on duty."

Watching Blair, Ellison realised how easily he did fit into this world. Clearly, Sandburg knew a lot of the men here. His jealousy confused him; Blair wasn't even flirting. But he seemed to have a history...

A few hours later Ellison was outside the club, alone. The music inside was just _too_ loud. He would go back inside when it stopped hurting, and once he'd cleared his head a little. 

Ellison was about to head back inside when Sandburg appeared. "Jim! I've been looking for you."

"Something wrong, Chief?"

"Kind of. Could you loan me a couple of bucks?"

Good naturedly, Ellison answered, "Do I look like a bank to you?"

"I'll pay you first thing tomorrow, I swear! I've been talking to some friends - Declan should be able to help us out. I promised to buy him and Sandy a couple of drinks, but..."

"You're out of cash," Ellison guessed correctly. Sandburg nodded, obviously embarrassed. Ellison dug into his wallet, only to discover he was out of small bills himself. He handed Sandburg a fifty. "Don't make me regret this," he warned.

"First thing tomorrow. I promise!"

Ellison didn't hear him. The familiar scent of cheap cologne reached him from somewhere. Suddenly all his senses were on alert. "Hang on a moment, Chief." He turned, scanning the area with his eyes. Where was that smell coming from? There were a lot of people loitering in the area. A group of young men sprawled against one wall, passing a joint between them. Ellison kept his cop instincts under control on that one: it wasn't worth it. Others hung around in couples or in groups. He could distinguish one scent from among the others, but a lot of people were wearing cheap colognes. The single familiar scent was gone. No one seemed out of place...except Ellison himself. He relaxed.

"Jim?"

"It's nothing." Impulsively, because he knew in this place no one would notice or care, Ellison leaned forward to kiss his partner. Taken by surprise, Blair nonetheless returned the kiss with enthusiasm, moving closer to him. They broke apart reluctantly.

"What do you say we call it a night?" Sandburg suggested.

"You have to talk to someone," Ellison reminded him.  

"Oh! Declan, yeah. Give me five minutes." After another unhurried kiss, Blair vanished.

Ellison pulled out his cell phone to check in. He told them he and Sandburg were going to call it a night. There would be a patrol car nearby all night. He hoped that would be enough to protect these people.

Sandburg returned with a satisfied smile on his face. "Declan's going to come in to the department tomorrow. I told him to ask for you."

"Sounds good. Who's Declan?"

"He's...um...he's a healer. He works as an AIDS counsellor at the hospital." They began to walk to Sandburg's waiting car.

"Healer? You mean he's a shrink?"

"Um...not exactly. More like a faith healer, though he wouldn't like me calling it that."

"And he can help how?" A faith healer? What next, a psychic? Silver bullets? 

"Our man has HIV. If he's local chances are Declan's met him. He might even be a patient. Declan won't betray any doctor-patient confidentiality, but he'll still be able to help. He's a good guy, Jim."

"Sounds hokey to me." Weird as it sounded, though, Ellison trusted his partner's judgement. "Never mind. I'll talk to him."

"Great! We heading home?" Sandburg unlocked the passenger door for Jim, then walked around the car.

"Yeah." Ellison smiled over the roof of the car. "The night's not over yet."

*

"I've got to shower, man. You won't want to come near me with the stink of that club all over me."

Ellison opened his mouth to deny the charge, but unfortunately Sandburg was correct. The club had been full of cigarette smoke and stale tobacco was a scent he'd disliked even before this Sentinel thing started. He hesitated for a moment, still wanting to deny it. Then he nodded. "Why don't I join you, Chief?"

Blair grinned. "Scared I'll use all the hot water?"

"It wouldn't be the first time. Go ahead and shower. I'll join you in a moment."

Ellison undressed in his own room. His clothing smelled like smoke, too; he threw the lot into the laundry. Grabbing a robe, he headed into the bathroom. Sandburg hadn't wasted any time. The room was already full of steam. He could see the silhouette of his friend's body through the shower screen and he waited a moment, admiring the sight. Blair's movements were unconsciously graceful, his legs long and slim, topped by round buttocks. Ellison felt his own body heat at the sight. He stepped into the shower. As the hot water gushed over both of them he pulled Sandburg into his arms and kissed him. The other man's tongue filled his mouth, tangling with his own. They broke apart gasping for breath.

"Now I'm ready for anything!" Sandburg declared.

"Is that a promise?" Jim reached for the shampoo, pouring some onto his hands. Raising his hands to Sandburg's thick hair he began to massage in the foamy liquid. His lover's eyes closed and Jim felt Blair unconsciously lean into his touch. He enjoyed the sensation of wet, soapy hair in his hands and he took his time over it, knowing he was pleasing his lover. Blair was such a sensualist.

Jim turned them around slightly, moving the younger man directly under the spray to rinse off the shampoo. Blair's hands slid up his back, sending pleasurable shivers up and down his spine. One hand remained there. The other came around to tease his nipple. Ellison sighed at the touch, relaxing his control over his senses...just a little. As he let go the sensation magnified and he drew back from his lover, not quite ready for that intensity. He wanted to give, tonight.

He ran his sensitive fingertips over his lover's chest, aware of the minute tremors in the muscles beneath. His hand came to rest over Blair's right nipple. Usually, he wore a tiny gold ring in that nipple...for the first time Jim noticed the ring had been replaced with a heavier stud. Tempting. He played with the stud gently, eliciting a moan from Blair, then he bent to taste it. The metallic taste of gold mixed with clean flesh and the slight residue of soap was a heady combination. Not unpleasant at all. He circled the stud with his tongue then drew it further into his mouth, biting down on the dark flesh. Blair cried out something incoherent. 

Jim released his nipple and sank to his knees, grabbing the soap on his way down. Blair's cock hung, hard and ready, before his face. Jim looked up, squinting against the still flowing water. "Ask me," he said.

Blair groaned deeply. "Oh, man. Please. Suck me."

Jim leaned in to obey. He licked the head, noting again that faint residue of soap, then lifted it on his tongue, his own cock hardening further as the taste of Blair's arousal filled him. Slowly, oh, so slowly, he drew his lover into his mouth. It was only then he realised he really had no idea what to do next. He wasn't exactly experienced at this. He _did_ know what he enjoyed himself, though... He began exploring with his tongue, feeling the ridged underside of Blair's cock. 

He was turning the bar of soap in his hands as his mouth worked. When his hands were slippery with foam he reached up, probing between those round buttocks with his fingers. Blair must have guessed what was about to happen: he thrust suddenly, deeply, into Jim's mouth. Jim relaxed his throat as best he could, letting Blair have his mouth. Carefully, he pushed two fingers inside his lover. Blair's cock jumped in his mouth and the tight ring of muscle seemed to grow tighter...then relaxed. Ellison twisted his fingers gently, seeking the firm swelling of the prostate. He knew the moment he found it: Blair let out a yell and his hand gripped Jim's head tightly.

"Jim! Oh, man, I'm gonna..."

He sucked Blair more deeply into his mouth, rubbing that magical spot with long, firm strokes. He could hear Blair's ragged breathing, feel his controlled thrusts and knew his lover was close. Blair cried out again, his anus tightening around Jim's fingers. It was hard to keep the rhythm but somehow Jim managed, firm, long strokes inside him matched by suction on his cock. The extra effort was worth it. 

Blair groaned in ecstasy, his seed filling Jim's mouth. Then, as his cock softened and Jim carefully withdrew his fingers, Blair slid down the wet tiled wall until he was sitting on the floor with Jim, his eyes still closed. "Oh, man," he murmured.

The water flowing from the shower was getting cooler. Jim reached up to turn off the flow before it turned to ice. He rejoined Blair on the tiles, kissing him.

"Was nice..." Blair whispered. "But what about you?"

"That was the appetiser," Jim assured him. "We'll finish this upstairs. C'mon."

As Blair moved to get up his hand brushed Jim's cock. Jim hissed at the touch. "Soon!" he gasped. "Or I'm going to lose it right here."

Blair's eyes opened and he grinned mischievously. "I think we'll stay right here. On your knees, Jim. Up against the wall."

"Orders, Chief?"

"Trust me."

Jim obeyed. He slid across the wet tiles to the wall and knelt there, waiting for his lover.

"Not good enough," Blair told him, his voice suddenly crisp with command. "Spread 'em, detective. Hands on the wall where I can see them."

Jim smiled to himself, assuming the position as instructed. Fully clothed this position wouldn't have bothered him at all. Naked, it left him feeling exposed, vulnerable. With his knees apart his ass was forced into prominence, the buttocks falling apart slightly, leaving his anus visible. He wouldn't have played this game for anyone else. But he did trust Blair, completely. If games turned him on, Jim would play along.

A new scent reached him...hair conditioner? He started to turn around to look but Blair stopped him. "Eyes front!" he snapped.

With an odd thrill at the submission, Jim obeyed. He felt Blair's hands sliding across his skin, down his sides, up his exposed inner thighs. A parody. "You really think you're gonna find a weapon?" Jim chuckled.

"I can already see _one_." The words were illustrated by a hand squeezing his erection. "You're armed and dangerous." His warm breath gusted against Jim's ear, his voice becoming soft, seductive. "Relax, my Sentinel. Open your senses and trust me."

Obedience was automatic. He was used to following Blair's lead where his senses were concerned. A desperate groan escaped Jim as he was suddenly overwhelmed with sensation. The taste of Blair's semen in his mouth. The combined smells of soap and sweat and his own musk filling the steamy air around them. The heat of Blair's body, hovering close. Jim closed his eyes, blocking off sight at least. Then a hand, slick with some kind of liquid, touched his cock and the Sentinel was lost. Each touch was white lightning through his loins. He heard his own voice begging, begging. Another hand cupped his scrotum, the sac tight with his need and Jim almost climaxed right then. And that hand tugged sharply on his sac - not quite enough to hurt, but close - and his arousal abated a little. 

"Lean forward," Blair instructed.

The tiles were cold on his forehead. The first hand was still stroking him. A hot tongue laved the skin between his ass-cheeks. Once and again. The hand on his cock moved faster, tighter and Jim fell into orgasm. The world exploded in colour behind his closed eyes and then became black.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt like hours before Jim opened his eyes. It had probably only been minutes, but Blair had been scared. _Trust me,_ he'd said, never realising how deeply Jim _did_ trust him. Blair only wanted to give him pleasure. He should have realised the sensory overload could be dangerous to Jim. 

He stroked Jim's cheek gently. "Are you okay, man?" 

Jim struggled to sit up. "Yeah..." He allowed Blair to help him. "I'm great. That was..."

"A little too much," Blair interrupted him guiltily. "Even if it felt good. I'm sorry, Jim."

"Don't be. I'm fine." Once he was on his feet, Jim pulled away from Blair. "I really am okay," he insisted. "Let's go to bed." 

Blair, a little bemused, followed him. This wasn't like the beginning of any relationship Blair had ever experienced, perhaps because it wasn't truly the beginning. They had been friends for more than two years, and had lived together almost all of that time. They moved from being friends to being lovers - if that was the right word - as naturally as evening becomes night. They hadn't really discussed anything, or questioned what they were doing. One amazing kiss at the dinner table and both of them had naturally assumed all was decided. 

So why was Blair questioning it now? 

He could have hurt Jim badly this evening. For a brief moment, he'd forgotten Jim was just a man. He'd been having too much fun with his new toy. _Trust me..._

"Maybe we shouldn't..." he said aloud, as they reached Jim's bed.

Jim turned. "Shouldn't what?" he asked sharply.

_Oh, shit._ Blair didn't even know why he'd said it. "Nothing. I didn't mean..."

Jim pulled on a robe. "Don't avoid the issue. Having second thoughts, Chief?"

"Um..." Blair hedged, then opted for honesty. "Sort of," he admitted.

Jim sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at Blair. "Planning to share?"

Blair sighed, sitting down beside him. "This could be too hard, that's all. I got carried away just now and you could have been hurt."

"I wasn't hurt. If it scared you, you won't do it again, will you?"

"It's not just that. Today at work..."

"Thomas' attitude is bugging you?" Jim guessed, correctly. Thomas had just transferred into Major Crimes, and had already earned himself a reputation for having a big mouth. If he kept it up, Simon was likely to "transfer" him out a window. If Sandburg was bothered by his attitude... "Chief, the man has a blind spot. I shut him down before you decided to deck him. Or maybe before I would have."

"But a lot of people feel that way," Blair persisted. Homophobia was a fairly common undercurrent in the police department. 

Jim put an arm around Blair's shoulders. "I know they do. It might not be a good idea to let everyone know we're sleeping together, but the police department isn't the army, Chief. One prick with a big mouth isn't a reason for us to stop." As Blair leaned into his touch, he added, "Not unless you want to."

"I don't!" Blair leaned against Jim, allowing himself, for once, to take the comfort he needed. "Take no notice of me, man. Mom always said I can't see a good thing when I've got it."

Jim laughed softly, his hand stroking Blair's skin. "What else does Naomi say?"

"Don't fuck on the first date," Blair laughed. "Though she never said anything about _before_ the first date."

"I should take that as a hint, huh? Chief, when this case is over, we'll date. Happy?"

"Happy," Blair agreed. It was the truth.

*

Declan Malone wasn't at all what Ellison had expected. From Sandburg's description he'd been expecting a young man, much like Sandburg himself. Malone was in his early forties, with thick wavy hair just beginning to turn grey, and a soft way of speaking. He wore a charcoal grey suit that looked tailored, not off-the-rack, with a lapel pin in the shape of the red AIDS-awareness ribbon. Malone certainly didn't seem the type to frequent the nightclub where Blair had met him. Trying not to show his surprise, Ellison showed the man to a free interview room.

"This is very formal," Malone commented. 

Ellison didn't hear any evidence of nervousness in the words. "It's a murder investigation. As long as we're in the department building, it's better to keep things formal." Ellison closed the door behind them, pulling out a chair for Malone before sitting down himself, with his back to the one-way glass. "You're not under suspicion," he assured Malone. "My partner thought you'd be able to help us, that's all."

Malone smiled briefly. "I wasn't concerned about that. I know what happened to Carl Jeffries. If I can help you in any way, I will. Though surely you have experts of your own."

"Sandburg tells me you're an AIDS counsellor," Ellison said, refusing to be drawn. 

"I am. I have contracts with two of the hospitals in Cascade and I volunteer at an advice centre as well. I qualified as a doctor, and practiced psychiatry for a few years, but I find counselling more rewarding."

"Isn't it the same thing?"

"Not at all. People go to a psychiatrist as they would to a doctor: for treatment. Counselling is helping people to help themselves." He leaned forward over the table. "How can I help you, Detective?"

This man, Ellison realised, was undoubtedly good at getting patients to open up to him. He had a quality that made him seem trustworthy. Ellison trusted his own instincts about people. "You understand this information can't leave this room."

"I understand confidentiality, Detective. I deal with it every day."

"This case isn't just about Jeffries. There's a second victim, and I think there may be others that haven't been reported. It's also likely this man will strike again." Briefly, Ellison told him what they already knew, keeping the details of the victims' injuries to himself, but giving Malone the key information. "Our theory is we're looking for a man recently diagnosed as HIV positive. These attacks are some sort of revenge."

Malone nodded. "Anger is a common reaction. Anger directed so specifically, however... I assume you've checked out the past contacts of both men?"

"I can't give you details."

"Just a yes or no will do."

Who was doing the interviewing, here? "We're working on it," Ellison conceded. "There are a lot of contacts in common, but they moved in the same circles, as you know."

Malone crossed his hands on the table top. "You understand, I have duties of confidentiality myself, Detective?" 

"I understand."

"Of course, if you made an arrest, the District Attorney could subpoena my records...but first you need to identify your suspect." His hands formed a steeple: a thoughtful gesture. "The man you're looking for clearly knows the gay community in Cascade, but he's not gay himself. That should narrow the field considerably. If I were a detective, I would probably look at the businesses in that area.

"As a psychologist, I'd say your man contracted HIV in some way other than sex. As I'm sure you're aware, Detective, the virus can be spread through any contact of body fluids..."

"Blood spilled in fights, shared needles. Even transfusions. I know."

"Exactly. Yet he blames gay men for his condition. It also seems likely you're looking for a man with a history of violence." He sighed. "Criminal psychology isn't my field."

Ellison kept his eyes on the man. Malone was trying to point him in a particular direction. The question was, what was Malone's opinion based on? He was the closest they had to an expert on this case: Ellison knew nothing about AIDS beyond the basic training all cops undertook on the subject. There was a department shrink he could call on, but Malone obviously knew more about it. Yet from his comments, he seemed to have a specific target in mind. 

"Off the record, Doctor Malone, are you asking me to investigate someone specific?"

Malone hesitated. "Perhaps I am, unconsciously," he admitted eventually. "Your story does bring someone to mind."

"Who?" Ellison demanded.

"A former patient. I can't give you a name, Detective. I have no evidence, only my own belief that the man I'm thinking of is capable of these crimes."

"I need more than that."

"I can only offer my professional analysis. You are looking for a man who is HIV positive. People still think of HIV as 'the gay plague'. The virus hasn't truly been confined to the gay community for years, but I _still_ speak with men who think I'm accusing them of being homosexual when I have to tell them the results of their tests are positive. It's not an easy thing to hear, Detective. HIV is still a death sentence to many. I see as many different reactions as I have patients. Most, eventually, accept some form of counselling and learn to live with their conditions. That's something we emphasise: learning to _live_ with HIV, rather than believing it to be an inevitable death. Of the patients who refuse help..." His voice trailed off. 

"I understand," Ellison told him. "I _could_ ask for a court order; get access to your files." It wasn't a threat, he simply wanted to see what reaction he got. 

Malone remained calm. "You could try. I hope you won't find it necessary. The hospitals I work for would of course oppose the court order, and I don't believe a judge would grant it over the hospital's objections. And my records at the AIDS centre would tell you nothing: we work with numbers, not names, to ensure complete confidentiality. Believe me, Detective, I wish I could tell you more."

It was enough, Ellison decided. He settled for asking Malone to be available if they needed a consultant on the case. Malone agreed readily to that.

As they left the room Sandburg was waiting for them. 

"Blair!" Malone greeted him as enthusiastically as if they were old friends at a reunion.

Sandburg returned Malone's handshake firmly. "How's Sandy? He looked rough last night."

Malone's smile faded. "Not good. He shouldn't have been out last night. He _should_ be in hospital, but they don't have a bed for him yet."

"Oh. I'm sorry, man. Look, thanks for coming in."

"Anytime." Malone checked his watch. "I have to go, Blair. I have appointments. See you around."

As he left, Sandburg turned to his partner. "I might know what he's talking about, Jim."

"You were listening in?"

"Yeah. A couple of months ago Declan was assaulted by one of his patients. I'd completely forgotten about it until I heard what he was saying. I don't know the details, but there should be a police report."

"Do you think he's onto something, Chief?" Ellison was still a little suspicious.

"I know Declan wouldn't lie. And revenge isn't his style. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"

"It crossed my mind." Ellison admitted. "Let's look up that report."

*

The report was disturbing. Blair shouldn't really be reading it: Declan was a friend. A patient he had met with twice at the hospital had lain in wait for him after work one night, followed him to the car park, and assaulted him. His injuries hadn't been life threatening, but Declan had spent some time in a hospital bed. He had identified his attacker and an arrest was made. 

A day before the preliminary hearing was scheduled Declan had announced he wanted to drop the charges. As the case turned on his testimony, that was the end of it. 

There _had_ to be more to it. "Richard Douglas," Blair read aloud. "He owns a men's club on 34th. Basically a private gymnasium."

"He's Malone's suspect, then." Jim concluded. He tapped the screen in front of him. "What do you make of this, Chief?"

Blair looked at the display. While he had been reading, Jim had been checking Declan Malone out more thoroughly. His active record was clean, as Blair had expected. But there was a prior arrest on the record - for statutory rape. No charges had been brought. Blair looked at the date of the arrest.

"It's not what you're thinking, man. Anyway, they didn't file charges."

Jim cleared the screen. "When it's statutory, that usually means they didn't have the evidence, not that he wasn't guilty. Are you sure we can trust this guy?"

Blair nodded emphatically. "I trust him, Jim."

"Okay. The question is, could Malone be right about Richard Douglas, or is he jumping to conclusions because the man put him in hospital? Let's see if Douglas has a record."

It took a few moments for the computer to decide to give them the data. Oh, yes, he had a record. Prior to his assault..._alleged_ assault, Jim corrected him...on Malone, there was a string of violent incidents linked to his name, but Douglas had never been charged for any of them. He _had_ been charged with a different crime seven years earlier: among his other interests, Douglas had been an athletics coach. He pleaded guilty to a charge of supplying steroids to two of his students and got a suspended sentence. 

"Steroids..." Blair repeated.

"Something ringing a bell, Chief?"

"Well, steroids used by athletes are often injected. If Douglas was a user as well as a dealer, that could be where he picked up the HIV virus."

"All that proves is that he fits your friend's profile."

"Jim, come _on_! Look at the guy's record. Isn't this probable cause, at least?"

"It's cause for suspicion. But so is Malone's behaviour. I'm keeping an open mind, Chief. You need to, as well. Malone spoke to us in good faith, but he could still be wrong about this. Or lying."

"So you're just going to let it go?" Blair couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Jim was silent for a moment. "No. I want to talk to this guy. But I can't afford to make assumptions here. Find me something. Find anything that links Douglas to one of the victims, and we've got grounds to go after him."

"Do you know how long that could take?"

Jim shrugged. "Joel found two people who were at Paradise the night Vincent was murdered. I'm going to interview them. You stay here and keep digging. If you find anything we'll head out to Douglas' place of work this afternoon. Deal?"

Blair nodded reluctantly. A morning tied to the computer was not what he had in mind. "Deal," he sighed.

*

Ellison returned to Cascade PD in a foul mood. Familiar as he was with people's reluctance to cooperate with the police, he had thought that a murder would bring forth at least one reliable witness. Out of the hundred or so men who patronised Paradise, a grand total of two had been willing to come forward. Taggert took brief statements while he was there, and his story of what it was like to spend an evening in Paradise would have been one to laugh over under other circumstances. But Ellison didn't find anything amusing about this case, and his morning had been spent following up Taggert's two "witnesses".

Two witnesses would have been a good beginning if they had useful information. Unfortunately, that had turned out not to be the case.

The first man he spoke to, Lane Gamblin, had been more interested in asking Ellison questions about his work than in answering them. Eventually, Gamblin settled down and he was able to tell Ellison a great deal about "Vincent". Enough to place the boy in Paradise the night he was killed. It was an important step, and the background information would help them build a case, but it wasn't what Ellison hoped for. He was in a race against time to find a killer before he struck again; a race Ellison was losing.

The second man _should_ have been exactly what Ellison was looking for, if only his evidence was reliable. Adam Szuszkiewicz claimed he had seen Vincent leave Paradise in the company of another man the night he was murdered. That was exactly what Ellison needed to hear: if the MO was the same as the rape of Carl Jeffries, whoever Vincent had been with was likely the only witness to the murder itself. That was the only good news, however: Szuszkiewicz couldn't name the man he had seen and when Ellison asked for a description Szuszkiewicz admitted cheerfully he had been high on cocaine that night and couldn't remember. Ellison wanted to strangle the man. He resisted the impulse, kept his tone friendly and asked him if he could recall anything, anything at all. Could he ID the man if he saw him again?

It was a frustrating interview.

So when Banks called Ellison into his office the instant Ellison got back to the bullpen, Ellison's mood just got worse. Banks would want a progress report, and Ellison had made very little real progress. He glanced over to his desk, where Sandburg was still glued to the computer, then obeyed Banks' summons.

"There are a couple of leads, Simon, but it's not much to go on. I talked with a psychologist this morning who agreed with Sandburg's profile of the killer, and added a few things. Taggert's information from last night was good - I interviewed a couple of witnesses from Paradise but they couldn't tell me much."

"How much is 'not much'?"

The best lead I have is a man seen leaving Paradise with Taliaferro the night he was killed. The 'witness' was stoned out of his skull on coke and the best description I could get out of him was - quote - 'fucking gorgeous'." Ellison frowned as Banks snorted with laughter. "I'm _so_ glad you find it funny. I'm investigating a serial rapist and right now my best hope of finding him is to wait for him to strike again and hope the next victim survives to make an ID!" The outburst was very loud.

Banks was silent for a moment, regarding Ellison thoughtfully. "What's going on, Jim? It's not like you to lose it over a case."

_Well, Captain, this one is more personal than usual. You see, my partner - who I'm fucking, by the way - knew the first victim and seems to be connected with the second, indirectly. Now every time I close my eyes I see the scene in that alley, but I see Blair in that poor kid's place._

Ellison was wise enough not to voice the thought. Simon was right about one thing: this case had him more wound up than was like Ellison, even when he _was_ too close to a case. The strangler case hadn't affected him like this, and that was as close to home as they come.

"You didn't see what was done to Jeffries, Simon. I did. He wasn't just raped, he was torn apart. I _want_ the man who did it. I want him before he has a chance to hurt someone else."

"We all do, Jim. Don't make it personal. You're a better cop than that."

It _was_ personal. It was useless to explain that to Banks, even if Ellison had been willing to go into the reasons. He took a deep breath, trying to release some of his frustrations. "You're right, I know. I just hope Sandburg found something more than I have, or we're looking at one big, blank wall."

Banks nodded. "You can keep this case on high priority as long as you want to. But I have to leave it to you and Sandburg now. Everyone else has their own cases to deal with."

"Understood," Ellison agreed. He stood to leave and through the glass he saw Sandburg look in his direction. His eyes lingered on him for a moment. He headed for the door.

"Jim," Banks called him back.

Ellison turned.

"Do you want to bring the media in on this? A public appeal for witnesses might help."

Ellison agreed, but only with reservations. "It might help. It might also start a witchhunt, if it gets out we're looking for a serial rapist with HIV. Give me another day before we go down that road."

"You've got it."

*

Ellison pulled up a chair and sat down beside Sandburg. "Please tell me you've found something."

Sandburg's look was sympathetic. "You had no luck?"

"One very helpful man who knew nothing but was desperate for Joel's private phone number and a cokehead who barely knew what day it is, but thinks he saw Vincent with a man that night. He couldn't tell me his name, his hair colour or even his ethnic type, but he assured me the man was 'fucking gorgeous'. Emphasis on the first word." Ellison groaned. "So give me some good news. Please!"

Sandburg, unlike Banks, did not laugh. "I checked for a connection between Douglas and Carl or Vincent. _Nada_. But do you remember those two assault cases I told you about?"

Ellison nodded. "I remember."

"The first one was a gay man found badly beaten in an alley near Seventy-Third. That was where he worked. The weapon was a steel bar, possibly from weight lifting equipment. The victim - Brian Grier - denied he was sexually assaulted, but the statement of the ER doctor who examined him implies otherwise."

"Is there a point to this story?"

"Yeah. The point is when Grier was assaulted, the man who assaulted him called nine-one-one."

Ellison was interested, suddenly. "Same MO as when Jeffries was raped." Ellison hoped the nine-one-one tape was part of the police file. It would probably take weeks to get it otherwise. He wanted to listen to it as soon as possible: he would know then if the two calls were made by the same man.

"Uh-huh. And Grier was a member of Douglas' private gym."

"Did this happen before or after your friend Malone was assaulted?"

"The day before. Declan wasn't sexually assaulted, though."

"You're sure?"

"It happened in a public place, Jim: the hospital parking lot."

"So no opportunity?"

Sandburg nodded. "There's more. I also found this." Sandburg offered Ellison a file.

Ellison opened it. The file was a missing persons report. He skimmed through it quickly: the missing person was a gay man - no surprise there -  who had gone missing about seven weeks before, and was still missing. The report was filed by his roommate - read 'lover', Ellison guessed - and his last known whereabouts was...

"He went missing during his lunch hour," Sandburg noted. "And he usually used the hour to work out."

"Let me guess: at Douglas' gym."

"Right."

So they had an assault with the same MO as the rape with a thin but definite connection to Douglas. A missing person with a far more direct link to Douglas, and both men were members of the same gym. Douglas was HIV positive - conclusive assumption if he had been Malone's patient - and he had violently assaulted the counsellor who gave him that test result. Douglas had a history of alleged violence and one prior - non-violent - conviction.

It should have been enough for Ellison. Except the first thread of suspicion came from a man who _could_ have been looking for payback. Malone's prior arrest record made Ellison uneasy about him. Even so...

"Nice detective work, Chief," Ellison said.

"So, are we going to bring Douglas in?"

"Not a chance. Everything we have is circumstantial, Sandburg. But it's more than enough to justify an interview. Let's report to Simon, then we can go talk to this guy."


	4. Four

The ground floor of the building was very plain. Steel security screens covered windows and the door was solid wood, marked simply "Private". A small plate above the doorbell was the only indication of the business name...from the ground. Looking up, Blair noticed as he surveyed the building from the car, was another story. On the floor above almost the entire wall had been replaced with glass panelling, revealing a room full of weightlifting and fitness equipment. There were several men up there working out. He couldn't see any women. 

Well, as Declan had implied, this place wasn't far from "Gay Street". 

"Shouldn't we ask for backup, man?" he asked, still looking up. He was a little nervous about this one.

"Relax," Jim answered. "We're just going to ask the man a few questions. Simon knows where we are. No problems." Even so, Blair noticed, he checked his gun before they left the car.

Entering the building, they were greeted by a woman wearing a shocking pink lycra catsuit. Blair couldn't help staring: that costume was tight as a second skin. Jim's shield gained them entry without difficulty, but the woman - evidently a cross between receptionist and bouncer - wouldn't allow them to go upstairs.

"This is a private club, Detective," she said firmly. "Members only."

"You have something to hide?" Jim asked her.

"Not that I'm aware of," she answered coolly. "Even so, unless you have a warrant, I can't allow you upstairs."

"I hope there's no need for that. We're here to speak with Richard Douglas. I believe he's your boss."

"One moment." She smiled, a practised, tour-guide smile, and lifted a telephone. After a few moments, she said, "Mr Douglas, there are two detectives here to see you." She was silent for a moment, then replaced the telephone. "Mr Douglas will see you," she told them.

Following the woman's directions, Jim headed into the office. Blair followed, still on edge. Did he really think something could happen to them here? Perhaps he shouldn't have come along on this one: he _was_ too close to this case.  

Richard Douglas was almost seven feet tall, and his body was powerfully muscled. Blair's first thought was he had been right about this man using steroids. Certainly Douglas was a heavy user of the gym upstairs, not merely its owner. He wore a white shirt, the first three buttons undone, and was seated in a leather chair behind a large desk. He did not stand as they entered.

If he knew why they were calling on him, Douglas gave no sign. "Please, come in. Have a seat."

Jim showed Douglas his shield. "I'm Detective Ellison. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

Douglas smiled: a politician's smile, all white teeth and false-friendliness. "Of course. Though I can't imagine what this is about."

"It's about the murder of David Taliaferro," Jim told him bluntly, taking a seat. "His body was found yesterday morning, a few streets from here."

"I heard there was a murder. I don't see what it has to do with me."

"Where were you that night, Mr Douglas? Say, between midnight and four."

"In the middle of the night? I was in bed, asleep."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"No, I live alone. I suppose my doorman could tell you what time I got in. Am I a suspect, Detective?"

"No, this is just routine." Jim's eyes never left Douglas' during the exchange. 

Jim had been reluctant to consider Douglas a suspect on merely circumstantial evidence. Blair understood that - the actual evidence against him had been pretty thin. But as Jim spoke with Douglas, Blair, acutely aware of his partner's reactions, realised Jim was certain now. What tipped him off, he didn't know. Jim would tell him later. But this was the killer. This was the man who raped Carl. 

"Have you ever been to the Paradise nightclub?" Jim asked.

"I don't think I know it. I'm not a nightclub man."

"Then you weren't there the night before last?"

"I just said so." For the first time, Douglas sounded defensive. Even angry. "I don't like your implication, Detective."

Innocently, Blair asked, "What implication?" 

"If I'm not a suspect, why the third degree?"

"I see. I thought you meant..." Blair broke off, intentionally not completing the sentence, but Douglas didn't take the bait. 

Jim stood. "Thank you for your time, Mr Douglas." He offered Douglas his card. "If you do think of anything that could be helpful, don't hesitate to call me." He waited for Douglas to take the card from his hand. "Let's go, Chief."

They turned to leave. Blair began to relax. They would be out of this place soon. Beside him, Jim began to turn back. 

Blair felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Then nothing.

*

_He looked down at the two men, remembering._

_There was a strong Police presence everywhere. Justice patrolled the streets, even so, trusting he would be shown the way to continue his Work. He had observed the cop talking with the club bouncers and patrons. Cops did not concern him. Small minded fools who saw nothing of the true crimes of the city. So Justice moved on into the night, seeking, but not finding, that night's prey._

_Until his feet brought him back to the same spot, and he saw the cop again, outside. And he had seen the whore moving on the cop, and seen the cop pay the whore. Rage flared hotly behind his eyes as he watched them together. He followed when they left the club, but the cop led the whore to his vehicle, so Justice was denied. But not for long._

_When the cop walked into his office, Justice rejoiced._

_Looking down at the bodies of both men at his feet, Justice lifted the phone and sent the woman on reception home. Thus protected, he knelt beside the younger man, checking his eyes and pulse. This one, too, was marked for Justice, but for now his only interest was in the cop._

_Cop. Not worthy of the name. What hope had the city for Justice when filth like this was placed in charge of their protection?_

_Angrily he kicked the cop, hard. There was little satisfaction in it. The cop would be unconscious for some time. He lifted the cop's unresisting body easily and carried it Below._

*

When Ellison woke, the first thing he became aware of was that damned cologne. Overpowering. An instant later he realised what it meant. 

He was kneeling on damp stone. It hurt to breathe, and Ellison recognised the sensation: he had broken a rib once before. That was the worst pain, but his whole body felt battered. Something hard pressed against his thighs. His mouth was full of some sort of fabric, held in place by a gag. The same fabric encircled his wrists, bound to a metal bar with his arms stretched out in front of him.

 He was very close to panicking. 

_Calm down..._ He kept his body still, his eyes closed. He took a slow breath and released it, concentrating on his remaining senses to get a sense of his surroundings. He was underground. A cellar, probably beneath the gym. Yes, definitely: he could hear people a couple of storeys above him. Too far away for them to hear him, even if he could call for help. There were water pipes above his head. He was alone...for now. 

The scent of cheap cologne hanging in the air could only be from one man. 

Satisfied he was alone, Ellison opened his eyes. The cellar was dark. While he waited for his eyes to adjust - it wouldn't take long - he tested the fabric binding his wrists. The fabric was strong. Luggage straps. Impossible to break, but he might be able to work loose, given time. He was bound to a steel frame: probably broken equipment from the gym above.

_Oh, shit! Sandburg!_ What the hell happened to Blair? They'd been together when...something happened. Ellison remembered hearing something that alerted him, he remembered beginning to turn around, reaching for his gun. He remembered a sound a lot like a pistol with a silencer, but not the same. His fingers had been closing around his gun when that sound came again. A tranquilliser. Where in hell had Douglas gotten hold of a tranq. gun? It took effect too quickly for Ellison to even think of an answer. 

And he woke up here. 

Where was Blair? If something had happened to him...

Ellison heard footsteps approaching from above. The smell of cheap cologne became even stronger. 

Ellison remained calm with an effort, concentrating on keeping his body still. It was the only thing he could think of to do. Stay still, stay quiet and hope he'd have a chance to take the son of a bitch by surprise. 

"I know what you're thinking." Douglas' voice, harsh and arrogant. "Something like, _You'll never get away with this_."

The bottom dropped out of Ellison's heart. He knew exactly what Douglas planned to do, and he knew there would be nothing he could do to stop it. Panic was just a thread away.

Douglas was leaning over him, the cloying scent of his cologne filling the air. "You are wrong," he snarled. "I _am_ Justice."

Taking no time to process that, Ellison kicked out as hard as he could. His foot connected with flesh and he heard Douglas grunt in pain. It was a minor triumph. A hand slid between his denim-clad legs, cupping his scrotum. Revolted, Ellison tried to squirm away. Then that hand squeezed him hard. Pain flooded his body. He tried to scream; his mouth full of cloth it came out more as a whimper. 

"Try that again, you fucking faggot, and I'll cut them off."

Ellison believed him. 

He tasted blood in his mouth. His breathing was unsteady. He was almost choking. The pain of his bruised scrotum began to subside, becoming a deep throbbing ache. When Douglas' hands moved to Ellison's belt, and then the zipper of his pants, Ellison's resistance was weak, ineffective. 

"I watched you last night. With your whore. You are filth."

Ellison tried to tune out the voice. The man was psychotic. He had tied Ellison here while he was unconscious. It would have been a simple matter for Douglas to undress him, too. Instead he had waited until now, with Ellison conscious. Why? So Ellison would know what was happening. Anticipation was torture.

Something cold pushed between his buttocks. Ellison renewed his struggles, but tied down as he was it was pointless. The object was thrust deep inside him suddenly.

The pain was worse...worse than...anything. Ellison felt membrane and muscle tear with stark clarity, felt blood flow, hot and ticklish on his thighs. He screamed through the gag, then automatically tried to breathe in through his mouth. The fabric filled his throat and he retched. Panic was just moments away.

_Dial it back, man. You can do it._

Blair's voice had no place in this hell. Ellison instinctively tried to obey anyway.

_You can do it, man._

He could. He did. Focussing on what he could see, because sight was the only one of his senses not hurting. Focus... The damp concrete floor... Cracks in the concrete... Grains of dirt in the cracks...

Ellison no longer smelled cologne, or his own blood. He no longer heard the abuse that rained from his attacker's mouth. The taste of blood and cloth in his mouth faded into the background. He barely felt it when heat replaced cold, hard flesh replacing smooth metal. 

He barely felt it...but he knew.

*

The sound of Jim's scream brought Blair shockingly back to consciousness. As he jerked awake, he banged his head on something. Had he really heard that? Or was it just in his head? He would never know. 

He began to get up, slowly this time. Blair's mind was awake, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He was still in Douglas' office. He'd been lying under the desk. 

What happened? He and Jim had been on their way out...

_Jim!!!_

"Jim!" he said, aloud. There was no reply. He hadn't expected one. Blair had to use the desk for support, dragging himself up until he was standing. Why was he so weak? 

There was a telephone on the desk. Blair grabbed it, fully expecting to find the line dead. It wasn't. Frantically he dialled the police department. He gave his name and the address, begging for backup. He probably wasn't too coherent. Panic rising within him Blair forgot to hang up. He just abandoned the phone where it was. He had seen the inner door. Cleverly panelled to seem like part of the wall, the door was slightly ajar. Blair started toward it. 

The moment he stopped leaning on the desk his legs buckled beneath him. He fell to the ground again, cursing. That was when he saw Jim's gun. 

What the hell was going on? 

Blair reached for the gun. When he had it, he made for the concealed door. He almost had to crawl. More afraid for Jim than for himself, he forced himself to keep going. As he pulled the door open, he heard a voice within. 

The door swung open, revealing a steep staircase. There was no handrail, no wall to lean on. He gulped. _Calm down, Sandburg,_ he told himself firmly. _Think. You can't help Jim by breaking both your legs._ He pinched the top of his leg, hard. _Ouch!_ Yeah, he could feel it.

Okay...if he had sensation, he _could_ do this. He had control.

Blair wasted precious seconds consciously relaxing himself. Long practice made it easy to slip into a meditative state, but he'd never tried to do anything quite like this before. He had to stay aware...like going through a door into another room. Panic receded. The feelings were still there, but he could control them now, and think rationally. It was almost an out-of-body experience: he was detached, yet entirely in control. 

First, he looked for a light switch. There was none. There was enough light behind him to see the steps though. Moving slowly, carefully, he began to descend. About halfway down, the rail began. With that same odd detachment, Blair noticed it had been deliberately sawn away at the top. Why?

He continued down. His eyes adjusted to the dark a little. He could still hear that voice, but not the words. Would these stairs never end? 

He reached the bottom. He waited, having no other choice until his eyes adjusted. His hand gripped Jim's gun tightly. 

That was the moment he heard Jim. A small sound, barely even human. But he knew. Blair's calm fled. 

The sound was behind him. Whirling, he saw two figures beneath the staircase. Jim, on his knees. Douglas, standing over him. Closing on him. 

Jim's gun was heavy in his hand. Blair had never fired a gun. Never. 

Jim was in pain. In danger. Panic seized him again and he raised the gun.

After, Blair would never remember pulling the trigger. He only remembered hearing the shots. And the smell of gunpowder. And the painful, unexpected, recoil of the gun in his hand. 

When the police arrived, only minutes later, they found Blair kneeling on the ground beside his unconscious partner. Jim's gun, the magazine empty, was still gripped tightly in his hand.

*

A hospital has its own, distinctive smell. Blair's eyes were closed, his hands clasped together in his lap. He tilted his head back, feeling the lights on his face. Feeling despair filling his heart.

Blair looked at his watch, shocked to see how little time had passed since they left him here. They...who was here? He remembered Simon had been here, because Simon was angry about what he had done. Blair hadn't really listened to what he was saying. Someone else had been here, too, because someone went to the loft and brought Blair a change of clothes - Jim's blood covered his jeans and shirt when they first arrived at the hospital. Who did that for him? Blair couldn't remember.

"Blair?"

Blair looked up at the voice. For a few moments, he didn't recognise the speaker. Then the pieces fell into place. "Declan?"

Declan slid into the chair beside Blair's uninvited. "What's wrong? You look like hell."

"I..." Blair couldn't explain. He didn't even know where to start. 

Declan was silent for a moment. "You're in shock," he observed. "Has a doctor seen you?" 

"Um...yeah. She said I'll be fine."

"Your energy is too low, your aura's dark."

"Now you sound like my mother."

"I've never met your mother, Blair. Let me help you. Please." Declan gently prised Blair's clasped hands apart, taking one of those hands in his. The touch wasn't sexual. It wasn't quite friendly, either. "What's happened?" he asked gently.

Blair felt warmth spreading through his body from the contact between them. He swallowed, no longer resisting. "I shot a man today."

"You did?" Declan's voice was soft, non-committal. 

"I shouldn't care. He was a killer."

"But you do care."

"He's in surgery now. If...if he dies, I'll be the killer."

"I didn't realise you carried a gun."

"It was Jim's." Blair's breath caught in his throat. "Oh, god! Jim..." He felt Declan's hand move to his back, rubbing gently between his shoulder blades. "Jim...he..." Tears stung behind his eyes. 

"Something happened to Jim? Your partner?"

Blair nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Tell me what happened," Declan suggested.

"We went to interview a suspect. Jim...knew...somehow that he was the guy. I'm not sure what happened. I was unconscious. He...took Jim..."

"The case you asked me to help with?"

Blair nodded mutely. He met Declan's grey eyes, hoping he would understand.

He did. "I see," he said. "How is Jim?"

"Still unconscious."

"And you're not with him?"

"I...I was. I got chased out by the doctor. Then Simon chewed me out because...because I shot the bastard." He swallowed. "I should go back."

"Feeling better?"

As if the question were a trigger, Blair realised he was, in fact, feeling better. He nodded, drawing his hand away from Declan's. "Thanks, man. I don't know what it is you do, but you should bottle it or something."

"Healing comes from the universe, Blair. It can't be contained. I'm glad I could help. Would you like me to come with you? I have an hour free."

Blair checked his watch, surprised. "I thought you'd be in a hurry to get home to Sandy."

Declan was silent for a moment. "Sandy's here. In ICU. He took a turn for the worse this afternoon."

"You should be with him!"

"I will be. All night if necessary. Right now, Blair, I'm concerned about _you_."

That was Declan. Gentle, determined, unmoveable. Blair didn't have the strength to argue with him; Declan would end up doing whatever he had already decided anyway. "Tag along, then," he said.

*

Jim's skin was paler than usual, and the bruises on his wrists and face stood out starkly. One of his eyes was swollen shut, both eyes were closed. The slow rise and fall of his chest was the only real sign he was even alive. Conscious of Declan's presence, Blair resisted the impulse to touch Jim. He sat in a chair beside the bed, wondering how long Jim would sleep.

Declan lifted the medical chart from the foot of the bed. He scanned the information quickly and replaced the chart without speaking, his eyes on Blair. The chart didn't show any sedative. It did show one thing that told Declan a great deal about the detective's injuries.

"I don't know how to help him," Blair said miserably.

"Just be here. You...you two are close, aren't you?"

The question was subtle, but Blair didn't pretend to misunderstand. "We're friends," he said. "More...maybe. Yeah, we're close." He looked up hopefully. "Can _you_ help him, Declan? Your way?"

"I could try, but you know I don't do that sort of thing without consent. So unless you can tell me for sure he'd be okay with it..."

Blair shook his head, defeated. "I _think_ he would. But I don't know."

"Then I can't. I can live without a reputation as a witch doctor." Declan rested his hand on Blair's shoulder. "He'll be okay, Blair. He's been through one hell of an ordeal. He'll come back to you when he's ready to face it."

"How...?" Blair began, then stopped, not sure what he was asking.

"The chart tells me more than you did. I'm a doctor, Blair, remember? I just don't practice any more."

"I remember. Declan, would you leave us alone, please?"

"Of course. If you need me, ask one of the nurses to page me. I'll be with Sandy."

"Give him my best, man." Blair felt guilty, suddenly. He hadn't seen Sandy for months, until last night at the nightclub. He hadn't made the effort. 

He waited until Declan quietly closed the door and, with privacy at last, he reached for Jim's hand. "Jim, I know you can hear me. You're in hospital, and you're going to be fine. It's over." _At least, for now._ "Jim, you have to trust me. Wake up. Trust me, man."

There was no response from Jim. Blair hadn't expected anything so soon. He kept hold of his hand, refusing to give up. No longer certain Jim could hear, Blair nonetheless kept talking to him. About love, and about trust.

*

Ellison missed the warmth of Blair's hand holding his. 

He could never have admitted it out loud, but he _did_ miss the sensation. Sandburg had spent the entire night at his bedside, talking to him, or just being there, watching. Somewhere around four in the morning, the young man had finally succumbed to exhaustion and slept, his hand still covering Ellison's, his head pillowed on the edge of the bed. A nurse had glanced in as she passed and seen him there and woken him, suggesting he should sleep in a bed.

Ellison remembered it like a dream. He hadn't been awake, or even truly aware, but he'd known somehow that Sandburg was there, and that someone was trying to make him leave. He _had_ to speak, to ask him to stay.

It was ironic then, that once Ellison was awake, and able to assure Sandburg he felt okay, Sandburg had been willing to acquiesce to the nurse's suggestion. There was, she told them, a bed behind the nurses' station he could use - it wasn't made up or anything, but would be better than sleeping in a chair. So Ellison knew his friend wasn't far away. If he listened closely, filtering out all the other sounds of the hospital, Ellison could even hear his breathing. Even so, he missed that touch.

Left alone, and wide awake, now, he had no choice but to think. The thoughts weren't welcome. He remembered the events of the previous day, trying to stay detached, sort through the events so he would be able to make the inevitable report. It was impossible to remember without reliving it. He was alive. He would heal...in most ways. The most important question was a thought he couldn't allow to form. Not now. It was too important he stay in control.

Listening for Blair again, he realised his friend was no longer sleeping. Ellison couldn't physically see through walls, but it was easy to visualise the scene based on what he could hear: Blair slowly getting off the bed...frantically trying to neaten his hair before giving up...wandering out to the nurses' station, still bleary-eyed, to ask for directions to the bathroom... 

_It's not an easy thing to hear, Detective. HIV is still a death sentence to many people. Most patients, eventually learn to live with their conditions..._

No. He couldn't think about that until this thing was over. (Would it ever be over?)

He was saved from the thoughts by a brief knock on the door. A familiar face peered in. It took Ellison a moment to remember the man's name: Declan Malone.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was looking for Blair."

"He'll be here soon," Ellison told him. "Come in, Doc. You can wait if you like."

"Starved for company, Detective?"

"It's Jim. And...yeah. A little. It's not good for me to be alone with my thoughts right now."

Malone nodded, pulling up a chair a safe distance from the bed. "Blair didn't tell me what happened, but I know it was...rough. How are you feeling?"

Well, that was a loaded question. "Rough," Jim answered, carefully. "I've been through worse." And that, at least, was true.

"I'm sorry for my part in it."

Malone's words took Ellison by surprise. "You led us to our man. Don't be sorry for that." Sandburg wouldn't have told him what happened...but either Ellison was being massively oversensitive, or Malone knew. The man's words were too carefully chosen. "I'm a cop. Risk comes with the job. If anyone screwed up it was me."

The grey eyes that met his were slightly bloodshot, and more than slightly shadowed. Malone hadn't slept well himself, Ellison guessed.

Malone said, seriously, "Don't go there, Jim. Leave the blame where it belongs, with the man you went to arrest."

If that wasn't a confirmation, it was close. "I'd forgotten you work here." Ellison's smile was a little forced. "Am I going to get a bill for this?"

Malone smiled. "No, this one's on me." Then, serious again, "I looked at your chart last night because Blair was upset. I was hoping I could reassure him. The medication they put you on told me some things I probably shouldn't know. It was wrong of me."

Ellison was saved from having to reply to that by Blair's arrival. Few sights had ever been so welcome. Sandburg looked like he'd slept in his clothes - probably exactly what he'd done. He smiled when he saw Ellison. 

"Jim! I...uh...Declan? What the...?"

Malone stood. "I was looking for you." He glanced at Ellison quickly, then addressed Sandburg. "Blair, I wanted to ask you to visit Sandy some time today, if you have time. It would mean a lot to him."

"Of course," Sandburg agreed at once. "How is he?"

"Stable. For now." Malone sighed, moving to the door. "He's insisted on DNR, Blair."

It meant nothing to Ellison. Blair though, nodded, obviously saddened by the news. "I'll be there. For sure, man."

"Thanks." Declan sighed. "I really must get some sleep before I start work. I've been up all night. See you later, Blair." He nodded to Jim, and left them.

Sandburg said nothing as his friend left. He sat down in the chair Declan had been using, drawing it closer to the bed. He was looking down.

"Can I ask, Chief?" Ellison asked him gently. 

Blair looked up. "Life is unfair, that's all." He took a breath. "Sandy was a student of mine. My age, but he started college late. He was...brilliant. I mean, Nobel prize brilliant, if he'd been willing to stay on past his graduation. He was sick for most of his final year - that's how I got to know him, through helping him out. He didn't make more than a third of his classes and he still graduated with honours. Brilliant."

"And now he's ill?"

"He's dying, Jim. DNR means 'Do not resuscitate'. Sandy has AIDS."


	5. Five

When Blair enquired at ICU, he was told Sandy had been moved to the hospital's AIDS unit. Apparently, they had finally found him a bed there. So it was there Blair eventually found him. There was quite a contrast between the two wards. The care Sandy would receive on the AIDS wing was no less intensive, but it was a lot less overt. The new ward was almost homey. 

A nurse directed him to Sandy's bed and Blair found it easily. It was a shared room with three other occupants. Sandy's bed was nearest to the window. There was someone already with him. Blair recognised the visitor from behind: Declan. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand stroking Sandy's hair. It looked like a private moment.

Then Declan looked over his shoulder and saw Blair. He beckoned with a smile.

Blair walked in, trying to smile. "Hi, Sandy."

Sandy looked sick. His formerly olive skin was grey, his dark eyes clouded with cataracts. That hadn't been visible to Blair in the constantly shifting lights of the club, but now he realised Sandy was almost blind. He was far thinner than Blair remembered...could it really be only two nights since they met at the nightclub? A plastic breather mask hung around Sandy's neck, hooked up to a large tank behind the head of the bed. Wires and tubes ran from his body to other machines. He looked a hundred years old. 

Even so, he managed a smile of greeting. "Hey, Teach." His voice sounded hoarse, as if overused, but strong.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Blair asked worriedly. 

"No," Declan assured him. "In fact, I have to leave now. I've been asked to visit your friend again - in a professional capacity this time."

"Then you know..."

"I knew last night, Blair. Look, I need Jim's consent before I can discuss this with you. We can talk later if you like."

"Please."

Declan stood then, smiling down at his lover. "Look after him for me, Sandy. Blair's fragile right now." He leaned over the bed, kissing Sandy gently on his lips. 

As Declan left, Blair found a chair and dragged it closer to the bed. The bed was a standard hospital monstrosity, but it had been lowered until it was almost the height of a normal divan. Sitting beside it was far more comfortable than visiting Jim had been. "How are you doing?" he asked lamely.

"Just great. Considering."

"I forgot to bring flowers."

"You brought you, Teach." Sandy coughed, covering his mouth with his hand. "Teach, I..." Whatever he was about to say was choked off as his cough took over. 

Blair, seeing he had trouble breathing, leapt out of his chair. Helping Sandy to sit up, he lifted the breather to his face. He held him gently, waiting for the cough to pass. Sandy's body weighed almost nothing. Eventually, Sandy leaned back against him, his eyes closed as the coughing fit passed. 

"Are you all right, man?"

"He's fine, now."

Blair's head jerked up at the new voice. He hadn't even seen the nurse approach: he had been too focussed on Sandy. 

She glanced at the monitors. "You did a god job there," she said to Blair, then, to Sandy, "I thought we agreed that mask would stay on?"

"Then how could I talk?" Sandy asked her hoarsely. He tried to smile; despite the nurse's words, her tone was friendly.

"Try listening for a change," she suggested with a grin. 

"I won't let him talk too much," Blair promised her. "I could use someone to talk to." His heartbeat returning to something like normal, he realised how much the incident had scared him. He moved back to the chair.

"So, talk, Teach," Sandy said. "I thought...you gave up on the whole gay thing."

Blair started. He had forgotten that conversation. Not long before Sandy's graduation from Rainer, the two of them had got drunk together. Blair had just broken up with his most recent lover and he'd sworn a drunken vow to stick with girls from then on. 

He laughed. "Well, for Jim, I gave up givin' up," he admitted. 

"He must be special."

"He is," Blair smiled, remembering. "But now... It's a long story."

"My favourite kind."

Blair knew that. He certainly didn't need a second invitation. He began to tell Sandy about his relationship with Jim. 

*

"How are you feeling?" 

The worst thing about being in hospital was that question, Ellison decided. As this time the question had been asked by his boss, he resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and answered seriously. "I think I'll be off-duty for a while, Simon. I have a couple of broken ribs and a little damage to one lung, they tell me. Some other internal injuries, too. The doctors will fill you in." Knowing it was important to their case that Banks knew everything, Ellison had instructed the doctors to tell Banks anything he wanted to know. Confidentiality wasn't a luxury he could afford. 

Banks nodded, "They have, Jim."

So he knew. That bothered Ellison more than he had expected. "What happened to Douglas?" he asked, moving the subject away from himself.

Banks made a sound of disgust. "You need to get that boy some firearms training. Did he tell you what he did?"

"He said he shot Douglas."

"He nailed my ass to the wall; that's what he did!" 

"You've lost me."

"He didn't just shoot the man, Jim. He emptied your gun. You're lucky he didn't hit you, too."

Ellison wasn't sure that was luck. He frowned...he vaguely remembered hearing shots, but couldn't recall that many. "Simon, are you saying Douglas is dead?" Ellison really hoped he wasn't. He wanted the man to be alive to stand trial.

"No, the kid's a terrible shot. Douglas needed surgery, and he's lost an arm. Right now he's under arrest. We've got uniform guarding him in the hospital. His lawyer wants us to charge Sandburg with attempted murder."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Sandburg's not a cop. He fired without warning on an unarmed man, and he emptied the gun. That's how the lawyer sees it."

Ellison tried to sit up and winced as the movement reminded him of his broken ribs. "Simon, you've got to be kidding me. He fired to protect me. If he panicked...can you blame him?"

"_I_ don't blame him, Jim. Where is he?"

"Um...he has another friend in the hospital. He's visiting. Please tell me you're not going to arrest him."

"I don't see another choice."

"Simon, it was so dark down there, _I_ could barely see anything. Blair couldn't have known Douglas was unarmed and he did exactly what I would have done if it had been me. Except I would have killed the son of a bitch."

"Ellison, if _you_ had pulled the trigger, we wouldn't even be discussing this."

And that, Ellison realised, was true. There was no reason a cop couldn't use lethal force to protect civilian lives. The reverse, however, wasn't supposed to happen. Blair had had every possible reason to fire on Douglas...but even so, he had technically broken the law.

"We have to do this by the book," Banks added. 

This was nuts. But Ellison remembered Douglas' record: the man had a talent for evading justice. A string of violent incidents, links to other investigations, and only one conviction.

The thought of Douglas getting away with this one was enough. "I know," Ellison admitted reluctantly. "But...there's got to be another way."

"I'm open for suggestions."

There was, perhaps, one thing...

*

Declan slid the page into the file and put it away. He checked his watch; he had some free time now. Then there was a knock on his door. He turned, a little irritated. He didn't have another appointment for an hour and wanted to visit Sandy. Blair peered around the door. Declan smiled, relaxing a little. "Blair. Come in." 

He poured coffee from the percolator. With a gesture, he offered Blair coffee, too. Blair accepted, making himself comfortable in the easy chair. "I need to ask you some things, Declan."

Declan nodded, handing a mug to Blair. "I'll tell you what I can. Is it about Jim?"

"No, about you."

Declan stifled a smile, sitting down. "That's original...in this room at least. What do you need?"

"Three months ago you were assaulted by Douglas. The file says you made a positive ID. But you withdrew the charges and refused to testify. Why?"

Memories... Declan drank coffee to buy himself time. "I talked with the DA the day before the hearing. She said he would be released on bail before the trial." Just words. Words covering the dread he'd felt in those days. 

"Did he threaten you, Declan?"

"No." 

"Help me out here, man." Blair sounded frustrated. "If you weren't afraid he'd come after you, why did the possibility of his release change your mind?"

The frustration in Blair's voice reached Declan, finally. He looked at Blair more closely; the young man's eyes were shadowed and bloodshot, his fingers tapped the side of his mug constantly. Declan felt his mind shifting to a more professional mode and he set his coffee aside. "I'm being evasive. I'm sorry. Blair, he didn't threaten _me_. I was afraid for Sandy."

The look of comprehension on Blair's face was almost comical. "Declan...is _everything_ you do for him?"

"Yes," he answered simply. How could he explain it to Blair? What words, even if he was willing to speak them, could convey what it had meant to meet Sandy when he did or how much his lover had come to mean to him, how quickly? And now Sandy was dying, _of course_ everything was for him. How could it be otherwise? After a silence, Declan added, "When it's right, Blair, it's right."

"Sandy said the same thing to me," Blair said with a smile.

Oh...yes, he would have said that. Declan swallowed back his own feelings and stayed silent, waiting for Blair. He didn't know how long Blair had been involved with the detective, but it was obvious Blair felt deeply for him. They were both facing some tough choices. 

Blair brushed his hair back with one hand. "What if you don't know it's right?" he asked, staring into his coffee mug. He glanced up, meeting Declan's eyes briefly. "How long did it take you?"

"Not long. But, we're not talking about me. Are we?"

"I guess not," Blair admitted, still looking down. His fingers still tapped an incessant tattoo on his mug. 

Blair seemed near the limit of his endurance. Asking him to visit Sandy might have been a mistake. But there was more going on. What was he holding inside? Concerned, Declan leaned forward, gently taking the mug from his hands. "How can I help you, Blair?" 

"Tell me he's going to be all right."

 How many times had Declan heard that one? Too many. "I wish I could. There are no guarantees, Blair." He had seen the file of Jim's injuries. The detective's immediate wounds would heal, but it was going to be slow. As for the long term...that was a lot more uncertain.

"I know," Blair answered, defeated.

Blair would need information first. Just the facts. "There's no question Jim was exposed to HIV, but thanks to you the hospital knew that at once. He's on PEP: that's preventative medication. He'll have to stay on medication for a few months, but there's a good chance that will prevent infection. He's young, very healthy...there are no guarantees, Blair, but he has a _good_ chance."

"And if the medication fails?"

"I think you know the answer to that, don't you? Jim will learn to live with it. So will you." Perhaps a little too blunt, there, but Blair seemed to need a push to talk about what was really on his mind. He waited for Blair to speak, waited a long time, but the young man remained silent. 

Declan tried a different approach. "I know how frightening HIV can be. But, to be honest, Blair, I think that's the least of Jim's problems right now." Even with Jim's consent, Declan was not wholly comfortable discussing a patient with someone else. But Jim had told him Blair had "a right to know", and added it might be better coming from Declan. Declan wasn't sure whether that meant Jim wanted to avoid the subject altogether, or just with Blair; familiar with Blair's habit of over-analysing every word, Declan suspected the latter. It felt wrong to be using that now, but it had gained him Blair's attention.

Blair's head snapped up. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply. 

"I had to talk with Jim earlier, and I'm...concerned." Declan was concerned about Blair, too. "He won't acknowledge what happened to him."

"He was _raped_, man! That's damned traumatic. Isn't it normal to repress or something?" 

Traumatic for Blair, as much as for Jim, albeit in a different way. Declan nodded. "Yes, that's normal. But I feel there's more going on here. Jim knows what happened. He discussed it with me as an assault - that's the word he used - but he's speaking in clinical terms. He won't verbally acknowledge the rape."

"Is that so important?"

"Far more than you'd think. It's...like an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, you know?" Declan's mild Irish accent became exaggerated as he mimicked, "Hi, I'm Declan and I'm an alcoholic." In his normal voice, he went on, "Except I'm not. The point is the verbal admission is the first step to dealing with it. It makes the event real. Normally, in a case like this one, I wouldn't push the issue. Some rape victims take years to face up to it. But Jim is a cop, and his captain obviously considers him a material witness in this case. He's going to have to testify, isn't he?"

Blair nodded. "Oh, man. I hadn't even thought that far ahead."

"So you see why I'm concerned?"

"Yes." Blair sighed, long and weary. "I don't know how to help him, man."

Finally! "You can start," Declan said gently, "by letting me help _you_. Blair, you're an inch away from breaking, here."

Blue eyes opened, looking up to Declan, filled with confusion. "This is such a fucking mess!"

"It's okay to be angry." The automatic phrase, reassuring.

"Two days ago, everything was great, man! Now Jim's in a hospital bed, _I_ could be going to jail, and I haven't got a clue where our relationship is. I don't even know if we _had_ one."

"Two days," Declan repeated. "That's how long you two have been together?"

Blair nodded.

Then this really had screwed up their relationship. Declan hadn't realised. Blair had told him they'd been living together for a while; he had naturally assumed that meant they'd been lovers that long. But this wasn't his problem. Keeping his focus on Blair, he prompted quietly, "And now...?"

"Now? Everything's different. Jim won't want...anyone...after this, and even if..."

"Stop right there. I'm sure you're a great anthropologist, Blair, but you just failed psych one-oh-one." He waited, but Blair simply looked at him. "The truth is you don't know how Jim will react to the rape. He might close himself off, sexually, and if he does it's important to respect that he needs time to heal, but it's just as possible he'll need affirmation in that area. You can't know." He was watching Blair's reactions as he spoke. "Just keep an open mind, Blair. You know Jim better than anyone, and the one certainty here is he will need you. As for the HIV issue...I don't want to understress the seriousness of it, but it's only an obstacle if you let it become one. You're smart enough to know that, aren't you?"

Blair sighed again, heavily. "Oh, man. Why am I putting all this on you? You've got your own problems."

His own problems. Sandy... Declan wasn't going to have time to visit. He blinked, his vision blurred momentarily.

Was he right to be helping Blair cope with this? Walking into a relationship with a HIV-positive partner...Declan regretted nothing about his relationship with Sandy, but he wouldn't wish this pain on anyone. Watching someone he loved suffer, knowing there was nothing he could do, no way to win... But he had no right to make those decisions for someone else. Regaining focus, he said, "Blair, you can come to me because this is what I do. My problems...they stay _outside_ this room. You have got to let up on yourself, Blair. Learn to bend a little, or you're going to break. Relax."

"How?"

Declan checked his watch, making a decision. "I hate to do this to you, Blair, but I really need to see Sandy before my next appointment. Could we continue this later?" It was unprofessional, but Blair wasn't his patient.

Blair nodded. "Sure..."

"Stop by at the end of the day. I'll buy you dinner and we can talk as long as you need."

*

"Are you _sure_ you're well enough to go home?" Blair asked. It was the third time he had asked the question, and he knew it would be the last. He was losing the argument with Jim, but that didn't make Jim right. He shouldn't be checking out of the hospital after only three nights.

Jim shook his head. "I'm sure I'm not. But I'm not exactly on the critical list either, Chief. There's nothing I'm doing here that I can't do at the loft. Rest up. Sleep. Take the meds."

"Why do I get the feeling you won't be resting?"

Jim bent down to lift his packed bag and groaned, his hand moving to his broken ribs. "The state I'm in, I can't do anything else." He sat down again on the edge of the bed. "But I'm going to be at your hearing even if someone has to carry me there."

"I thought that was it." Blair lifted the bag himself. "I appreciate it, man, but..."

"No more buts. I'll be there." Jim's hand reached toward Blair, touching his arm gently before withdrawing. "It'll be okay, Chief. Simon wouldn't have let this happen if he wasn't sure."

"Don't bullshit me, Jim. Simon had no choice. He's _hoping_ the judge will throw it out, but he doesn't know, any more than I do. How in hell am I going to pay for a lawyer if..."

"We'll work something out," Jim interrupted. "We're in this together, Chief, and if money's the only problem I have some of that. Try not to worry about it."

Blair nodded, unconvinced. He couldn't help worrying about it. Simon had made the situation perfectly clear. His back was against the wall. Had a cop shot Douglas, there wouldn't be an issue. But Blair wasn't a police officer. He didn't even have a license to carry a gun. Douglas had a history of evading justice. Even the drug dealing conviction, which should have sent him to jail for a long stretch, had resulted in a suspended sentence. Now, Douglas' lawyer was loudly accusing Cascade PD of trying to cover up the attempted murder of his client. If they wanted to charge Douglas, they had to also charge Blair. The Assistant District Attorney agreed.

Simon's advice - and Jim's - get yourself a lawyer and insist on an immediate probable cause hearing. Both men seemed sure any judge would toss the case out.

Blair wasn't so sure. Like Simon, though, he'd been left with little choice. The hearing was scheduled for the following day and he was frighteningly aware that the rest of his life was riding on a stranger's decision.

He met Jim's eyes, knowing Jim would read his uncertainty. But he said nothing more.

*

Blair fixed them both a snack and joined Jim on the couch, sitting at the opposite end. "You need to talk about it, man." Talk, in the hospital, had been impossible. He hoped that in his home environment Jim could relax enough to open up.

Jim looked at him. "It's the last thing I need to talk about." 

At least he hadn't pretended to misunderstand. "Jim, you're going to have to talk about it. Even if you don't testify tomorrow, you'll have to at Douglas' trial."

"That's different."

Blair shrugged. "Okay," he said, non-committally. Pushing the subject would get him nowhere. He started eating, the plate balanced in his lap. He tried to watch Jim without being obvious about it. Jim ate in silence, not looking up from his own plate. Both the television and the stereo were off and the room, to Blair's hearing at least, was utterly silent. The silence dragged on for almost half an hour. Staying quiet and waiting for Jim was agony for Blair. Patience really wasn't one of his virtues.

Jim spent most of that half hour pushing food around his plate before he finally set it aside. He stood, walking over to the window. Blair followed him with his eyes, frustrated. He was going to have to say something, try just once more to draw Jim out. Slowly he moved to stand beside Jim. Saying nothing, still, he reached out and rested a hand on Jim's lower back, careful of his broken ribs. No more than that. 

"I screwed up," Jim said quietly.

"No, you didn't."

"I turned my back on a killer. I should have heard what he was doing. I could have fought that damned tranquilliser - I've done that before. I could have..."

"You're not superhuman, Jim."

"No?" Jim still stared out of the window. "Chief, that's _exactly_ what I am. I know my limitations, and they don't include this. I screwed up, big time. Now, I..."

Blair couldn't believe what he was hearing. Jim was blaming himself for this? Of all the stupid things to think! "Do you really think this was your fault, Jim? What did you do that wasn't your job?"

Jim turned, looking directly at Blair for the first time since they entered the loft. "What makes _you_ think Douglas chose me at random? The others weren't random." He moved away from Blair's touch.

Blair's mind went into overdrive, reviewing the past week. He remembered listening to Carl Jeffries' story: 

_"I never saw him, not for a second. But I'll know his voice if I ever hear it again. I could ID him from that."_

_"He spoke to you?"_

_Carl nodded; the movement seemed to cause him pain. "He never shut up."_

_"Well...what did he say?"_

_"The same kind of crap I hear all the time. I just don't usually hear it from someone who's fucking me. He called me filth, a whore...you know the drill, don't you?"_

_"I've probably heard most of it," Blair admitted. "Carl, I know this is hard. Can you think of anything he said, anything that might be significant, help us figure out a motive, here?"_

_Carl was silent, frowning. Eventually, he said, "No. I'm sorry. I can't remember anything specific."_

_"It's okay, man. If you think of anything, you've got my partner's number."_

_"Yeah." And Carl smiled then, very nearly flirtatious. "I'll call you."_

The memory, partnered with what Jim was saying now, slotted another piece of the puzzle into place. "Wh-what did he say to you, man?" Blair asked. Did he really want to know the answer?

Jim shook his head. "I - I can't..."

Suddenly, it was too much. He didn't know why, what Jim had said to make him feel that way. He found he was turning away from Jim, walking away, one fist clenched in anger. The words spilled out before he could stop them. "Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I have a clue what I'm doing? I don't."

And, impossibly, he felt the heat of Jim's body against his back, the warmth of Jim's hands at his waist. "Sounds like you're the one who needs to talk, Chief." 

Blair, too grateful for words, leaned back into his partner's arms. "No," he said slowly, "it's not talk I need." He turned around, staying close to Jim. "Except...about one thing..." He reached up, holding Jim close to him, and kissed him, full on his lips.

It was a frightening choice. Blair knew Jim was at risk of HIV. He also knew the risk to himself from a kiss was minimal: that wasn't a concern. But Blair had spent much of the previous few days at the bedside of a dying friend, watching Sandy suffer, watching Declan suffer even more. Sandy and Declan had been lovers longer than Blair had known them, and Declan wore his heart on his sleeve. Blair had seen how this was tearing him apart. The thought that he was volunteering to go through the same thing..._that_ was frightening. Even if, as he had to keep reminding himself, there was a good chance it wouldn't happen to Jim.

Blair _could_ have drawn back from the relationship. They had barely even begun, and there were good reasons to do so. 

Jim's hands on his waist moved higher, drawing Blair closer to him as he returned the kiss. Blair understood then that backing away from the relationship - which was becoming less of an option every passing second - would spare him nothing. He loved Jim already, as a friend, as a lover...the distinctions didn't matter any more. It was too late for him to back away.

And then Jim pushed him away. "I can't," he said again. And he was gone, striding up the stairs to his bedroom.

Blair could do nothing but watch him go.

*

Ellison lay on his bed, flat on his back, his hands laced behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

What did Sandburg _want_ from him? What right did he have...?

That was unfair. He knew what Blair wanted. It had been abundantly clear. It was the same thing Ellison himself wanted, something that, for two unforgettable nights, he had believed he could have.

Everything was different now. Everything had been changed. In part by the rape, though Ellison had spoken truthfully when he said he had experienced worse. It was something he would have to work through, but it wouldn't cripple him. Three initials made the real difference: HIV.

The doctors could talk about the odds all they liked. Sandburg would talk about hope and not dwelling on it. None of it mattered. What it all added up to was one big unknown.

Six months. That's how long it would take for that unknown to become a known. Half a year before he could take a test and trust the result. Of all of the odds and figures he had heard in the hospital, that was the only one that truly mattered. How long Ellison would have to live with uncertainty.

He could hear Sandburg moving around below. He had cleared away the remains of their snack then settled on the couch. He was writing. It was a familiar sound, and Ellison was grateful for it.

Ellison ran his fingers across his lips, remembering the kiss. Was he in love with Blair? He had believed he was, before all this. For an instant, when they kissed, Ellison forgot the obstacles. Holding the other man close against him, he had wanted so much more...and the beginning warmth of his arousal had stopped him.

What he wanted could _kill_ Blair.

The constant scratch of Sandburg's pen on paper stopped. That was all. To Ellison, tuned to the sound, the silence that followed was empty. Slowly, he became aware of other sounds: the normal noises of the apartment. The constant buzz of the electricity, the whisper of air at the windows. And Sandburg's heartbeat, strong and steady...his breathing, less steady.

Ellison drew a deep breath, painfully aware of what that meant. It still hurt him to breathe. He sat up slowly, mindful of his injuries, and made his way downstairs, as quietly as he could.

Sandburg was curled up on the couch, a legal pad on his knee, a pen in his hand. His eyes were closed, but Ellison could see traces of tears.

Ellison sat on the arm of the couch. "It's too early for me to talk about it, Chief. Give me a couple of days."

At his first words, Sandburg looked up, his eyes opening. He said, "A couple of days I can manage."

"I can't go back to work for at least a few weeks. Doctor's orders. After tomorrow, let's get out of Cascade for a while. Take a holiday. Fishing...or whatever you want."

"Sounds good," Sandburg agreed.

"Just nothing too active, okay, Chief? My ribs can't take it."

"I'll think of somewhere nice," Sandburg promised. Then his smile faded. "Assuming tomorrow goes right," he added.

"You're really scared about this, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't _you_ be? Jim...I'm guilty, man. I wanted to kill that guy."

Ellison knew that. He moved from the arm of the couch to sit beside Sandburg. "Chief, first thing: don't even think of saying that where anyone else can hear you. Second, it doesn't matter. Your lawyer explained that."

"You're all telling me to lie. I can do that if I have to, but..."

"Whoa! No one is saying lie. Just stick to the facts and leave your guilty feelings out of it. You were suffering the effects of a tranquilliser. You were panicking. You came looking for me. You saw what was happening, so you shot. End of story."

"That makes it right?"

"No, Chief. That makes probable cause. Tomorrow, the legal stuff is all that matters. I know it's hard, man, but you need to put the rest of it aside. Deal with it later."

"How?" Blair sounded so lost.

Ellison smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "You got me, Chief. Don't you have some meditation technique or something that'll help?"

"I can't relax."

"And what do you tell me when I say that?"

That earned him a weak smile. "Point taken, Jim."

Ellison looked into his friend's eyes. Sandburg's eyes were slightly red. "Have you been sleeping?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not well." Sandburg confessed. He dropped his gaze, breaking eye contact.

"That's what I thought. Take a shower, then get some sleep if you can. I'm going to take you out for dinner, and make sure you relax."

Sandburg looked up at him again, holding Ellison's eyes for a long moment. Ellison could almost see the thoughts in his mind. Sandburg swallowed. "Okay, I'll try."

"Good man."


	6. Six

"And then what happened, Detective?"

Ellison reached for the glass of water in front of him, covering his own hesitation. He sipped the water and grimaced at the slightly alkaline taste. The courtroom had been sealed for the hearing; the absence of an audience helped. He put the glass down and met the DA's eyes again. She was still waiting for him to answer. "The next thing I remember clearly is hearing shots. Then Sandburg untied me. I think I blacked out at that point. That's all I remember."

"You heard shots. How many?"

"I can't be sure. Three or four."

"Did Mr Sandburg issue any warning before he shot, or speak at all?"

Ellison hesitated again. "Ms Farnesse, all I can say is I didn't hear him. But I can't testify under oath that Sandburg even fired the gun. It was dark, I was barely conscious, and whatever happened took place _behind_ me."

"But you didn't hear him challenge the victim before firing."

"No, I did not."

"Thank you, Detective. Nothing further."

Ellison met Sandburg's eyes across the courtroom as the DA returned to her seat. He had worked with Emma Farnesse before, and knew they were on the same side this time, too. The DA's office had no interest in winning here. But the adversarial process of a court hearing gave the opposite impression. Everything by the book...and Blair Sandburg was paying the price.

Sandburg met his look silently. He looked unhappy.

Ellison waited for Blair's lawyer, keen for this to be over so he could comfort his friend.

"Detective Ellison, I have only one question. Hypothetically, had the situation been reversed, what would you have done differently?"

Ellison shook his head. "Nothing at all. No - one thing. If I witnessed the prime suspect in a murder case committing a violent assault, I would have used lethal force without hesitation. He would be dead, and we wouldn't be sitting here wasting the court's time."

"Why do you say that?"

"The only reason we're here is because Sandburg isn't a police officer. He did what any cop would have done, and he saved my life. If I, or any other cop had done that, no one would question it."

"Thank you, Detective."

Excused from the witness chair, Ellison waited tensely at the back of the courtroom. He heard Farnesse sum up her case against Blair and worried that she was doing her job a little too well. Sandburg's lawyer stuck to the facts, making the same, obvious defence that Ellison had.

The charges against Sandburg were dismissed without prejudice.

On leaving the courtroom, Sandburg almost collapsed with relief. Ellison guided Blair to sit on a nearby bench. "You okay, Chief?" he asked, feeling Blair trembling beneath his hands.

"Can't stop shaking," Sandburg muttered.

"It's over, Chief. You can relax." Truthfully, _without prejudice_ meant it wasn't over. In theory, if the DA's office wanted to pursue this they could. With that in mind, Ellison stood to greet Farnesse as she emerged from the courtroom.

"First time I've been happy to get a case thrown out," she admitted. "Now I just have to deal with the man your friend shot."

"They assigned that case to_ you_?" Ellison was surprised.

She nodded. "It's murder one, Ellison. I happen to be good. So I'll be seeing you both again, soon. Ciao, Jim."

*

Jim had told him they would go anywhere Blair chose. Blair took him at his word. He wanted to get as far as possible from Cascade. No simple fishing trip, but somewhere they could spend time together, away from the case, from the police...everything.

The loft was tidy, the refrigerator empty of anything that wouldn't last more than a few days. They were packed, their things stowed in the truck. Their reservations were made and the flight would leave in less than three hours.

Blair waited in the truck in the parking lot beneath Cascade PD. Jim had to check in with Simon before they could leave. There were a few last papers to sign or something. There was no danger Simon would expect Jim to work: Jim was in no shape for it. He checked his watch for the fifth time. Jim should be back by now.

_Give me a couple of days._

They really needed to talk. About everything. Last night they slept together in Jim's bed, but sleep was all they had done. Blair was too tense to think about sex, and Jim didn't make a move. Was that sensitivity to Blair's mood, or something else?

_I can't._

He saw Jim coming and tried to relax. Then he jumped almost out of his skin as Jim's cellphone rang. Jim had left the phone in the truck. Blair considered ignoring it, then glanced at the display, where the caller's number blinked. He answered the call.

"Blair Sandburg." He waved at Jim, pointing at the phone. Jim waved back, acknowledging, as he walked toward the car.

"Blair. It's Declan." Perhaps it was a bad line, but Declan's voice sounded odd.

"What can I do for you, man?" But suddenly Blair knew. Sandy. As Jim opened the car door, Blair met his eyes, listening to Declan's words, knowing Jim could hear, too, if he chose. "I'm so sorry, Declan. Are you still at the hospital?...We're on the way."

He turned to Jim. "We have to go..."

"I heard. Cascade General." Jim slid easily into the driver's seat and started the car. "Are you okay, Chief?"

Blair nodded. "I guess I am. Sandy was...a friend. We weren't close, but...well, you know."

"I know." Jim drove them to the hospital without further comment.

*

Ellison ran his fingertips along the inner side of his collar, trying to loosen it. He loosened the knot on his tie slightly and then slipped on his jacket. Sandburg called him a second time, and Ellison shouted an acknowledgement and headed down to where Sandburg waited. Sandburg, like Ellison, was wearing a black suit, his usually wild hair tied back and determinedly tamed into a neat braid at the nape of his neck. A red ribbon pinned to his tie was the only splash of colour, vivid against the black. Sandburg's eyes, Ellison could see from a distance, still showed signs of tears, and deep shadows beneath his eyes betrayed lack of sleep.

His friend's death, expected as it was, had hit Sandburg hard.

After today's funeral they would take their long-delayed holiday. Sandburg badly needed it, and Ellison would be no less grateful for some time away from the city. The truck was already loaded with their gear. With luck, they would get away in a few hours.

The funeral was first.

Sandburg drove them to the church. It was a silent drive; Sandburg had barely spoken a word all day. Ellison, trying to be sensitive to his friend's grief, had let the silence continue, but on the way to the church he began to wonder if that was wise. He had no idea what Sandburg was feeling right now and the day was likely to be hard on him.

It was a small Roman Catholic church, very traditional in design, with gothic stained glass windows and dark-stained pews. Ellison could smell the incense from outside. Declan Malone greeted them as they entered. He was alone, and Ellison wondered about that: shouldn't Sandy's family be here? He offered Malone his condolences: all the correct, meaningless words.

"Thank you for coming," Malone answered. He turned to Sandburg, but the younger man spoke first.

"His parents?"

"They wouldn't come to his deathbed, what makes you think they would be here today?" The words held more than a trace of bitterness. Malone shook his head. "Thank you for agreeing to speak today, Blair. If you and Jim sit near the front, Father Dalby will call you when it's time."

Sandburg nodded. "Thanks, man."

Ellison followed Sandburg into the church. He was no stranger to discord in his own family, but this bothered him. More than it should. Sandy was the same age as Blair...far too young to die. Horrible that he should have died with whatever was between him and his family unresolved. For a short while, it put his own problems into perspective.

The church was already full of people. Most, like Ellison, wore sombre black. Some men wore flamboyantly bright colours, as if in defiance of unhappiness. Conversation murmured all around them; Ellison resisted the temptation to listen in.

The funeral was uneventful. Ellison, not truly here for himself, let his attention wander. It was hard not to. All of his senses were assaulted inside the church, from the smells of incense and burned wax and human bodies to the light dancing through the stained glass, dappling the closed casket like blossom falling in spring. He was aware of the absence of Sandburg's body heat beside him when he rose to speak, and was able to focus then, listening to Sandburg's voice. Even then, he heard nothing of the words Sandburg had worked so hard to compose. The rise and fall of his voice, filling the small church, said it all: the warmth of his affection for the man he had loved as a friend was in that voice, and his admiration for a student's ability. The still-raw edge of his grief could be heard by everyone, and finally the sincere gratitude he felt for Sandy's presence in his life.

...And Ellison had never even met the man. The realisation brought him up short. This was a part of Blair's life he had never even known he was missing. How much more had he missed out on, he wondered. He focussed on his friend as Sandburg returned to sit beside him. He looked drained.

When it was over, they both hung back as people began to file out of the church.

"You want to get out of here, Chief," Ellison offered, thinking of the promised holiday.

"Love to," Sandburg told him, "but I promised I'd be at the wake."

Ellison's hope of an early getaway faded. Something of his disappointment must have shown in his face.

"You don't have to come with me, man. I'll be - "

"I'll come with you. Let's not stay too long, though. We've got a long drive ahead of us, remember?"

Sandburg nodded. "There's no burial service; Sandy didn't want that. We can still be ready to go in a couple of hours."

*

The wake was being held, not at Declan's home, but at the AIDS centre where both Declan and Sandy worked. There were far fewer people there than had been at the church. Sandburg introduced him to a few people, and Ellison accepted an offer of coffee from one of them, who told him alcohol wasn't permitted in the centre. He made some effort to follow the conversation, but Ellison didn't know anyone here but Sandburg, and he wasn't truly interested. After a while, he drifted away from the group, the untasted coffee cradled in his hands.

Posters covering the walls warned of the dangers of unprotected sex and drug abuse, or offered help and advice. One noticeboard was filled with information and statistics. Ellison tried not to look at it. He felt horribly self-conscious, as if his own personal involvement was written all over him. It made him reluctant to make any attempt to blend in.

The cheap, powdered coffee was bitter and too strong. Ellison looked around, seeking anything familiar: a face, a voice...it was easy to locate Sandburg, but his friend was mid-conversation and probably wouldn't want to be interrupted.

His friend? The term no longer seemed to fit. They had crossed the line from friendship to more...to love? Ellison's thoughts drifted back to the first night they had slept together. It had been more than sex, that was certain. It was only a memory, though, not something they could repeat. Perhaps not ever. Where did that leave their relationship?

There was too much noise in the room. His hearing spiked painfully, the sounds of conversation around him blurring into a thunderous roar, the sound of water being poured was like Niagra Falls... Disoriented, Ellison looked for Sandburg and couldn't see him anywhere.

A cool hand touched his arm lightly. He turned to see Malone, concern written on his face. Malone's lips formed words, but Ellison couldn't pick them out of the din. He couldn't focus. Everything was too loud.

Malone pushed open a door right behind Ellison and ushered him inside. He closed the door behind them and with firm gestures got Ellison to sit down. "You're okay, Jim. Can you hear me? Just breathe. Try to focus on my voice. Can you do that?"

Ellison saw, rather than heard, the words, but the instructions were familiar. Malone wasn't Blair, but as Ellison tried to focus on what he was saying he recognised the same compelling quality in Malone's voice. The closed door helped, blocking out the worst of the cacophony and slowly Ellison was able to dial back everything but that voice. As he relaxed, he wondered what Malone thought was happening to him. He didn't know how to explain it.

Malone's voice fell silent, his grey eyes watching Ellison intently. For a moment, the strange tableau held. Then he said quietly, "Are you okay now?"

Ellison nodded. "Thanks."

"You looked ill. Perhaps you should go home. Would you like me to find Blair?"

"I'm okay," Ellison insisted. He was, now.

Malone nodded. "You cancelled your appointment," he mentioned casually.

"I was...we were planning to take a holiday. I wouldn't have been here."

"Are you avoiding it?" Malone asked him. After a brief pause he added, "No, don't answer that. I know the idea of talking to a complete stranger isn't attractive, but it might help you. If nothing else, I can answer some of those nagging questions."

Despite himself, Ellison smiled. "That'd take a month!"

"You'd be surprised. I won't nag you, Jim. Just remember help is here if you want to ask for it."

The funeral he had just attended had been for this man's lover, he remembered suddenly. "You shouldn't be worrying about me," Ellison protested. "Today of all days..."

"Nonsense, it helps me," Malone insisted. "So...what happened out there?"

Ellison couldn't answer. How was he supposed to explain a sensory spike without telling Malone he was a Sentinel? Eventually he shrugged. "I've got a lot on my mind, I guess." Malone's silence invited him to continue. Ellison recognised the technique; he used it himself in interviews. Even so, he was drawn in. "A couple of weeks ago I thought everything in my life was perfect. Now..." He spread his hands helplessly.

"Something happened to you that changed how you see your life."

"You _know_ what happened to me."

"I know the facts. I don't know how you see it."

Ellison couldn't answer. The silence grew uncomfortable. When he began to speak, all the frustrations came to the surface. "What if I have HIV? How can I ask Sandburg to live with me then? How can I ask him to go through that? I'm supposed to _protect_ him!"

"There's a big _what-if_ in there," Malone commented. "If you _were_ HIV positive, you feel that would complicate your relationship with Blair?"

Ellison stared at the older man disbelievingly. "Well, wouldn't it?" he challenged.

Malone smiled. "Jim, I lived with a HIV positive man for eight years. We lived together and slept together and our relationship was complicated, but not because of that. You and Blair will be different, because every couple is different. But you _can_ have a sexual relationship."

"There's still a risk," Ellison pointed out. It was a risk he couldn't ask Sandburg to take.

 "Strictly on the odds, Jim, I think there's more risk involved in working with a major crimes detective than there is in having safe sex."

Malone's words threw Ellison back into confusion. He was right, wasn't he? Ellison asked Blair to take risks for him all the time. That was work, though. Work was different.

"Is that the biggest problem?" Malone asked him gently. "You're concerned about putting Blair at risk?"

"It's not that. Not exactly. I don't know what the problem is."

"Jim. How do you _feel_?"

How did he feel? Jim ran both hands through his hair with a groan. "Like there's too much for me to deal with right now. My job, this...assault, Blair - he's going through hell right now and I owe him _something_ \- and the AIDS thing... I think I could deal with that if I only _knew_..."

"You're frustrated."

"Damned right."

"Waiting for test results is the hardest part for many people. You feel like you have to assume the worst, but that makes it difficult to hope."

Ellison nodded. "That's it exactly. I have to make some choices, Declan. It feels wrong to make them based on a worst case scenario."

"Some education might help. If you reschedule that appointment, or come and see me here at the centre if you prefer, we can talk in detail about that. The risks and the choices. Try to stay open to all the possibilities until you have all the facts."

"Easier said than done."

Malone was silent for a moment. Ellison waited, unwilling to speak again.

"You mentioned the assault a few moments ago. Do you want to talk about that?" The suggestion was cautiously made.

Ellison shrugged. "What's to talk about? I screwed up and the sonofabitch raped me. I've been through worse."

"You screwed up?"

"Turned my back on a killer." Ellison laughed suddenly, the sound harsh even to his own ears. "Talk about asking for it!"

"You feel what happened was your fault?"

Suddenly Ellison was irritated by Malone's constant questions. He snapped, "I _feel_ my life's a fucking mess and I should have known better! Now quit riding me!"

Malone fell silent again, then took a breath to speak.

Ellison interrupted, "You're going to say something like 'It's okay to be angry', I suppose?"

"Wrong. You're feeling angry, bitter, frustrated, resentful, guilty and very afraid. All of it is understandable, Jim, but none of it is helping you."

Anger flared within him. "You think I'm scared?"

"I think any intelligent man in your circumstances would be. Fear doesn't define who you are, Jim. How you deal with it is what matters."

Ellison opened his mouth to insist he wasn't a coward. Before he could speak, he heard Blair's voice, speaking his name. He closed his mouth, listening. "Sandburg's looking for me," he said.

Malone frowned, but said only, "I'll find him for you." He went to the door and opened it. Sandburg was right outside. Jim caught the surprised look on Malone's face, but volunteered nothing.

"Is Jim okay?" Sandburg asked.

Malone spoke quietly; he probably thought Ellison couldn't hear him. "He looked...distressed, so I pulled him out of the crowd. He's okay for now. I think he needs counselling, though."

"Good luck convincing Jim of that," Sandburg muttered. He pushed past Malone into the room, relief filling his eyes when he saw Ellison.

"Jim said you're going away?" Malone mentioned.

"Yeah. There's a cabin in the mountains...you know, a back-to-nature thing."

"Well, when you get back..." Malone produced a card and handed it to Ellison, "...call me. I can at least give you some information that will help."

Ellison accepted the card. It gave Malone's name, the address of the AIDS centre and several telephone numbers. "I'll call," he agreed. He stood, looking at Sandburg. "You ready to leave, Chief?"

Sandburg nodded. "Anytime." He looked at Malone. "Declan, if there's anything I can do..."

"Just take care of yourself. And...thank you for speaking today."

A few minutes later they were walking back to Sandburg's car. Sandburg asked him what happened.

"My hearing went out of control. Malone brought me out of it."

"He _did_?" Sandburg stopped walking and turned to Ellison. "How did he know?"

"I'm not sure if he did." Ellison hesitated. "You know the man, Chief. Could we trust him with the truth?"

"You're not really thinking of telling him, are you?"

_Was_ he? Ellison shook his head. "Just trying to cover all the bases. Do you trust him?"

"I trust him as a friend. He's a counsellor, Jim. Anything you tell him he'll keep confidential."

"Even this Sentinel thing?"

"I'm betting Declan's heard weirder stuff than that, man."

*

Ellison's injuries were still healing, so rather than camp out, they rented a cabin. It wasn't an all-modern-conveniences thing: the cabin was very basic, but it saved the effort of putting up a tent.

It was late when they reached the cabin, and nearly dark. Ellison looked around the site while Sandburg unloaded the truck. The site had five cabins, each a good distance from the others, but theirs was the only one occupied. It was a good time of year to be here: too late in the season for many people to be around. The cabins were in a small meadow that sloped down toward the river. There was a rough rope bridge over the river, for those not patient enough to use the more sturdy bridge a short walk upstream, and on the far side of the river the land was thickly forested. The sounds and smells of nature surrounding him, Ellison found himself relaxing at last.

Nightfall found them outside in the cooling air. Sandburg sat on the cabin steps, Ellison lay on the grass a short distance away, his fingers laced behind his head, gazing up at the stars. It was good for him to be here. The sounds he heard, and the smells, even the texture of the air were very different from home. Almost...alien, to the Sentinel. Yet it was comfortable, too. No doubt Blair would have some fancy term for it. He was acutely aware of Blair, too: the steady sound of his breathing, and the restless play of his fingers on the rough wood where he sat. Something was bothering him. Which one of the hundred possibilities was it?

Ellison sat up. The movement brought a twinge of pain, reminding him of the reason for the injuries he bore. He ran his fingertips over his wrist, tracing the shape of the scar left by the binding. For an instant - no more than that - he was back in a filthy cellar, bent double with his ass in the air, the cloying scent of cheap cologne surrounding him. Reality snapped back into place and Ellison drew a deep breath, banishing the vision. There were stars overhead and he was in the mountains, alone with Blair. Whom he trusted. Whom he loved.

Ellison didn't realise the depth of his reaction until he felt Sandburg's touch.

"Jim?" Sandburg said softly. His fingers cupped Ellison's left hand, where his fist was clenched tightly.

Ellison looked up into eyes almost black in the darkness. "I'm all right," he muttered. He became aware of pain in his hand and looked down, allowing Sandburg to prise his fist open. His fingernails had cut into the skin, and his palm was smeared with blood.

"Jim!" Sandburg exclaimed, both shock and reproach in his voice.

Ellison yanked his hand away from Sandburg's touch. Was Sandburg stupid or something? "I'm all right!" he repeated, no longer convinced that was true. How had he not felt pain before?

"Either you didn't feel that happening, or you were _trying_ to hurt yourself," Sandburg accused. "Either way, you're _not_ all right."

"Drop it, Chief."

Sandburg's face fell and he backed away. The unspoken hurt was so obvious that Ellison immediately felt guilty. But Sandburg shouldn't be anywhere near him if he was bleeding.

"Blair," he said softly. An apology.

Sandburg looked up, hope in his eyes.

"Get the first aid kit from the truck."

"Is it that bad?"

"It's blood. And I could have HIV," Ellison reminded him. Perhaps Sandburg could forget that detail. Ellison couldn't.

"Fuck." Sandburg scrambled up and did as he was told.

The antiseptic stung, but it did reveal that the wounds were only shallow. Even so, Ellison covered his palm with a sterile dressing and taped it in place. Then he tossed the antiseptic wipes to Sandburg. "Clean your hands, Chief."

"I didn't get blood on me."

"Do it anyway." _And don't fucking argue._

Sandburg obeyed. Without speaking further he gathered up the first aid kit and returned it to the truck. Ellison picked up the disposables and headed into the cabin. The wood stove was burning well: he threw them onto the flames then followed his friend, waiting until Sandburg closed the truck door. He moved to take his friend into his arms.

Sandburg held him tightly, burying his head in Ellison's shoulder. "I forgot," he said, the words muffled against Ellison's shirt. "How could I forget?"

"You're lucky you can, Chief," Ellison began. But now Sandburg's body was warm against his and Ellison's unwounded hand was threading through the wayward curls and blue eyes were meeting his and he saw himself reflected there and he heard Blair's voice but didn't register the words because the lips shaping the words had all his attention and Jim needed to taste those lips right _now_, he had to, and Blair's mouth was so sweet, so welcoming and for an endless moment he knew nothing else...


	7. Seven

Blair reached up, sliding his hands behind Jim's head, holding him close. The kiss was unexpected, but he didn't waste the opportunity. He returned the kiss with enthusiasm, careful not to escalate: he didn't want to push Jim into another crisis.

Finally, Jim broke away for air.

"You're driving me crazy, Ellison!"

That fetched a grin to Jim's face, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. Perhaps Jim only misunderstood, but the grin only increased Blair's irritation. He had tried to be understanding and follow Jim's lead. He _tried_. But Jim was such a mass of mixed signals it was impossible. One moment he was kissing Blair, and his kisses were as passionate and demanding as the first. The next he would push Blair away, sometimes literally, sometimes just with words or that horribly closed expression he would wear. Jim asked Blair to share his bed the night before Sandy's funeral, and Blair went willingly. But Jim hadn't touched him. Wouldn't even hold him. Blair had had enough.

"I mean it, man! You're so fucking hot and cold!" He shook off Jim's touch, putting some distance between them.

"I know," Jim admitted. "I know. I'm just..." his explanation, if that's what it was, trailed off into silence.

Just. Just _what_? Just tired, confused, needy, scared shitless, all of the above, none of the above?

_It's blood. And I could have HIV._

_I forgot. How could I forget?_

Blair let out his breath and looked up into his partner's face. It was dark; he could barely see Jim. "I'm sorry, man," he said, meaning it. Again.

Jim's answer was an arm around Blair's shoulder, gently guiding him back toward the cabin. Blair allowed himself to be led, and when they sat together on the cabin steps he found himself leaning into Jim's embrace, aware that Jim needed the moment of closeness as much as he did. Neither man spoke.

Blair felt terrible about his slip. When he saw blood on Jim's hand his only thought had been that Jim was hurt. He hadn't considered he might be in danger himself. He considered it now, and knew he had nothing to worry about. He hadn't touched Jim's blood, and even if he had, there were no cuts on his hands, no way he could have been infected by it. He had been sitting on the cabin steps, as he was now, just worrying. He remembered Jim's earlier sensory spike - and there had been others in the past few days, a sure sign of emotional turmoil - and was more worried than he wanted to admit by Declan's quiet insistence that Jim needed counselling. He wondered whether Jim would have difficulties returning to work after the rape, and whether Blair himself could face returning to the police department after what he had done...and then he had realised Jim was in distress and found him bleeding.

HIV had been the last thing on Blair's mind. But for Jim, it was the first thing he thought of, and the last, when he realised there was blood.

That was why Jim avoided touching him! It wasn't just the rape, though that had to be part of it. Jim wasn't recovered, physically or mentally from the rape, and probably wouldn't be for some time. How was he supposed to put it behind him with the spectre of HIV hanging over him? Over both of them.

Blair took a deep breath, the scent of Jim's body filling his nostrils.

"Heavy thoughts, Chief?"

Blair drew away from Jim to look up at him. "Just thinking about what you've been going through. I've been selfish."

In the light coming from within the cabin, Blair saw Jim's eyes widen. "What _I'm_...?" he began, disbelief filling his voice. He shook his head. "We're in this together, man. You've been through a lot, too. I think..." Jim's voice trailed off again, but this time Blair waited, giving him time to think. Eventually, Jim said, "I think we need to talk, Chief. About all of it."

Blair knew that was a difficult admission for Jim. Jim was seriously allergic to "talking about" anything important or emotional. It just wasn't his way. Blair knew Jim was right. He also knew the conversation would be a painful one for both of them. Blair couldn't face it. Not yet. He chickened out.

Blair nodded. "You're right, Jim, but not now. Please. Can't we just go to bed?" _Together?_

Jim's bandaged palm brushed Blair's cheek. "And do what?" he asked quietly.

"Sleep. Talk if you want to. Just not about this. Not tonight."

Jim hesitated, then nodded. "Let's go."

*

This wasn't sleeping.

Blair loved making love with Jim. He loved Jim's hands exploring his body. He loved imagining what the Sentinel must feel when he touched him. He loved the trust they shared in lovemaking. He loved Jim's breath on his neck and the taste of him...all of him.

But to have Jim touching him now, knowing Jim would never allow it to go beyond a touch, was a nightmare of frustration. Painfully aroused, Blair remembered what it was like to take Jim, to slide into his willing body, and groaned into Jim's mouth, longing to repeat the experience.

There was pleasure in this, too. Especially when Jim rose above him, his mouth moving over Blair's chest. Fingertips lightly brushed the hair on his chest and teeth closed over a nipple. That was too much.

Blair reached down, pulling Jim away. "Jim, don't, man. Not if you're not going to finish it."

"Wish I could," Jim muttered and Blair became aware that Jim was as aroused as he.

He groaned. "This is nuts, man." Blair squirmed out from beneath Jim's body. They _could_ do this safely. They just needed to be careful. He reached for his bag, intending to look for his supply of condoms.

Jim's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "You're right. We shouldn't be doing this."

"Jim, I didn't..."

"I'll sleep in the other room."

"Jim!"

But Jim was already leaving. Blair considered following him, but that would lead to the conversation he had been trying to avoid earlier. He couldn't face that now; not tired and frustrated. He would end up saying something he wouldn't be able to take back. Ever. So when Jim paused at the door to look back at him, Blair said only, "Sleep well, Jim."

*

Ellison fell asleep listening to the sound of Blair working out his frustration. He heard his name on Sandburg's lips when he climaxed - a curse and a benediction both - and as his former lover's breathing steadied into the patterns of sleep he let himself slip down to the same place.

He woke some indeterminate time later. A dream he didn't remember drew him outside. Ellison was awake enough to pull on a pair of pants and his shoes, but it was half in a dream that he rose, walking quietly out of the cabin into the night.

The night air was chill, raising gooseflesh on his bare chest. Ellison paused at the top of the cabin steps, looking out across the dark meadow. It wasn't dark to him. He saw the sloping ground of the meadow and the forest beyond clearly. His ears were full of the sounds of life: the wind in the trees, the scurrying of small animals. The same half-dreaming impulse that drew him out of the cabin pulled him into the meadow. Dew collected on his shoes and pants as he walked across the grass.

Golden eyes watched him from the far side of the river. Ellison reached the water's edge, aware, then, of that golden scrutiny. He met the panther's steady gaze without fear. This, at least, was familiar. Whatever drew him here, the panther's presence told him that it mattered, that there was something for him to learn here. When the great cat blinked and began to walk away from him, Ellison followed it into the woodland.

*

Blair woke with the sun falling across his face. He pulled the pillow over his head, blocking out the light, but it was too late; he was awake. If the light was bright enough to wake him, it must be quite late, Why hadn't Jim woken him? Blair left the bed reluctantly, wrapping a towel around his waist. He called out Jim's name as he headed into the main room of the cabin.

It didn't take long for him to determine Jim was missing. Blair knew it instinctively before he checked: the cabin just felt empty. Worried, but not overly so, Blair dressed quickly and went out to find Jim. The truck was where they had left it, so Jim couldn't be far away. There was no response when he called out Jim's name and no sign of him near the cabin. That was when Blair began to worry. Jim could be zoned out somewhere, or even hurt. He was already injured. It was unlikely he could be lost: Jim's Sentinel abilities gave him a definite advantage in that way.

Blair would just have to find him. He considered raising an alarm but that seemed premature. Jim did know how to look after himself out there. He returned to the cabin and packed a backpack with food and water. He added a map of the region and a compass. After a few moments thought, he packed the first aid kit as well. He wrote a short note in case Jim returned to find him gone, leaving it in an obvious place. He headed out of the cabin.

He knew Jim well enough to go to the river first, where he saw the rope bridge over the water. The river looked deep, but it wasn't fast running and the ropes appeared to be strong. Blair made sure the backpack he wore was secure and climbed across the water.

He was no tracker. The ground was dry: there were no convenient footprints to follow. This was impossible! Better to go back and wait for Jim to show up. Or call the professionals. Jim could have tracked Blair with ease. Blair didn't know where to start.

Blair was no Sentinel. He _was_ a Sentinel's partner, however, and he knew what Jim would do. He wasn't ready to give up. Blair looked for signs of human passage. It would be something small, he knew, and he had to look hard, but he eventually found it: the broken twigs and slightly crushed grass that showed _someone_ had been there. He followed the trail Jim had left.

There was no way for Blair to be sure it was Jim he followed. In places there was no trail at all, and Blair took more than one wrong turn that morning. He kept the compass in his hand, noting his direction, but the further he went the less certain he was of the way back. It would not help Jim if he became lost.

He had been walking for most of the day when he finally found Jim. Blair had stumbled across a path that seemed well-used. Uncomfortably aware that he wouldn't know a hiker's path from a game trail, he followed it anyway. If this led him nowhere, he would have no choice but to turn back, or he would still be out here when it turned dark. Perhaps he was stupid to try this alone. By then his imagination was conjuring images of Jim unconscious in a gully somewhere, where Blair would never find him.

The path led him uphill to the treeline, however, and as he emerged from the forest he saw the silhouette of a man outlined against the sky. Jim! He called Jim's name, but there was no response from the still figure.

Jim stood on high ground, at the edge of a cliff, gazing out over the forest below. As he came closer, Blair registered that Jim was naked to the waist. It was then he saw how high they were: if Jim moved the wrong way from where he stood, he wouldn't survive the fall. He wasn't moving at all. Blair recognised a zone-out and hurried to his friend's side.

"Jim!" he called again.

"You don't need to yell. I have good hearing, Chief." The words were quietly spoken.

"Looked like you were totally zoned out, man."

"I wasn't. I heard you coming a mile away."

"Well, you might have answered me!" Blair reached for the water bottle and took a drink, then offered the bottle to Jim.

Jim took it and drank. "Thanks, Chief."

"What's going on, man? What are you doing up here?"

Jim turned away from the view, handing the water bottle back to Blair. "I don't know how to explain it. I followed a dream here."

Blair frowned. "A dream?"

"I woke up and came outside. I followed the panther and it brought me here, through my memories." A sudden smile cracked Jim's face. "That sounds crazy, right?"

"It's not the first time your Sentinel abilities have manifested spiritually. The panther seems to be symbolic of that. Have you been here before, Jim?"

"No." Jim shrugged. "Don't ask me to explain it, Chief. How did you find me?"

"Honestly? I have no idea."

For some reason they both found that hilariously funny and for a few moments the laughter of both men filled the air.

*

Ellison left the fire burning and moved his chair closer to the iron stove. It wasn't freezing out there, but by the time they reached the cabin there had been a definite drop in temperature, and Jim hadn't been dressed for the cold. He sat with a blanket around his shoulders, letting the fire warm him. It wouldn't take long.

Sandburg sat on a chair further from the fire, his eyes constantly on Jim. He seemed nervous, and Jim understood why.

Sandburg needed an explanation for what happened to him. Ellison had none to give. He had followed the image of a panther - a dream? A ghost? A spirit guide? Who knew? It led him into the forest. It had been an hallucinatory journey; Ellison had honestly believed he was dreaming. Now it was over, the only thing that convinced him it was somehow real was Sandburg found him. Could Ellison have been sleepwalking all that way?

On a purely practical level, that was the only explanation. It was an explanation that raised more questions than Ellison knew how to deal with. He didn't like to think of his enhanced senses as anything other than perfectly natural: a genetic advantage, Sandburg called it. That there was more - some supernatural side to what he was - made Ellison profoundly uncomfortable. The panther he could handle, just: eighteen months living with the Chopec made that easier. Anything more was discomfiting.

And his walk through the forest was a great deal more.

_The panther led me through my memories_, he had told Sandburg, having no other way to articulate it. An almost romantic phrase, but the journey itself was terrifying. Ellison lived again the disastrous mission that left him stranded in the jungle - a memory he thought long lost to him. He relived his first encounter with the Chopec, his life in the hands of people he could neither communicate with nor understand. He confronted for the first time how much of his essential _self_ he had lost in order to assimilate with the tribe: he remembered his name, and his mission, but little else in that time, until the "real" world he called home had found him again. He remembered the terror and confusion of his sudden Sentinel gift (the experience of getting it back five years later was a walk in the park by comparison) and how impossible it had been to retain the gift when he finally came home. He had lived again the beginning of his friendship with Sandburg and the instinctive recognition that this irritating hippie student was the one, the only one, who could help him. And there was more, much more, before the panther led him to the edge of the cliff, literally and metaphorically: the place where all the options were made starkly clear and a choice had to be made.

It was clear then, as clear as the glittering water far below him, what Ellison had to do.

Sandburg wasn't going to like it.

Ellison turned away from the fire. "Still with me, Chief?"

"Sure," Sandburg answered.

He took a deep breath. "I, um, I did a lot of thinking today." Ellison saw the uncertainty appear in Sandburg's eyes. "You know, everything that's happened..."

"I know," Sandburg said. "I'm trying to help, Jim."

Ellison shook his head. "You have helped. And you've got your own stuff to deal with, Chief, we both know that. But we can't go on the way we are. We proved that last night, didn't we?"

"Last night, I didn't mean - "

Ellison held up a hand, cutting off Sandburg's words. "You said it was nuts. You were right. And when I walked out of here...I don't know if it was a dream or a vision, or what it was. But it made me think about...everything. I...I'm going to tell you what I need, Blair. And I don't want to debate this, okay?"

"Jim..."

More firmly, he repeated, "Okay?"

Sandburg nodded, evidently meaning "no".

Ellison took it as a yes. "The reason I can't handle this, the thing that's driving me crazy, is I might have HIV. I think if I knew for sure, one way or the other, I could deal with it. But I _don't_ know. It's going to be another six months before I know. Before _we_ know."

Blair nodded affirmatively, saying nothing.

"Chief, this thing...this you-and-me thing...I need to put it on hold. Until we know."

"No way!"

"Sandburg..."

"No! You're hanging our whole future on the results of a test you can't even take for half a year? Don't I get a say in this?"

"No," Ellison answered bluntly. "You don't. Listen to me. I am not hanging a decision on the test result. I'm trying to tell you I can't make that kind of choice until I know." Malone had pointed out he asked Sandburg to risk his life every day - for work. That was a known risk, one Sandburg had willingly walked into. Hell, after the siege at Cascade PD the day he had introduced Sandburg to Simon, Ellison figured Sandburg knew what he was getting into. But this was different. He was willing to let Blair take a known risk. Not an unknown.

He went on, "We've been friends a lot longer than we've been...together. I'm just asking you for some time. Six months. Of friendship. When I take that test...whatever happens, if you still want...us...we make that decision together. Understand me?"

It was too long a speech for Ellison. If Sandburg argued with him, he wouldn't have the energy to deal with it. He could see Sandburg gearing up for a debate.

"Jim, this isn't..."

Ellison closed his eyes. He _had_ to shut this down. "I'm begging you, Chief. Don't make this harder than it already is." He looked at Sandburg.

Into eyes wide with shock at his words. For a long time, neither man spoke. Finally, Sandburg nodded. "If that's what you need, man, okay. Six months. Just friends."

*

The last time he felt this bad, Blair remembered, was when Cole left him. He was younger then, convinced Cole was the love of his life, and when his lover left - left the goddamned _country_, as if he needed to get as far away as possible - Blair was devastated. Cole's brief note was his only goodbye, and contained no explanation at all.

That time, Sandy had been there, determinedly persistent in his efforts to keep Blair cheered up. They went out on the town, had fun and got drunk together. One night Blair ripped up his only photograph of Cole and swore on a bottle of vodka, with Sandy as his witness, that he would never be with another man again. Stick with girls.

He kept that vow, too. He kept it for years.

But now Sandy was dead, and years of superficial relationships with women were wiped away by two nights in Jim Ellison's bed. The case and everything that followed it had occupied his mind and it was only now, now he had time to think it over, that Blair realised how much those two nights had changed things for him.

He was in love with Jim.

And Jim didn't want him.

Jim wanted to be "Just friends". Jim didn't even respect him enough to discuss the decision: he just made it without him.

When did things get so fucked up between them?

Hurt beyond words by Jim's rejection, Blair couldn't stay in the same room with him. He mumbled some excuse and fled to the sanctuary of the bedroom. Jim did not follow.

Last night, Jim was in this bed with him. Last night they lay down together and kissed and Jim began to make love with him. Last night Blair had ruined it.

Was this mess Blair's fault? He was the one who stopped Jim touching him. Jim thought he was afraid, but it wasn't that. Sandy's gift to Blair: he feared AIDS no more than he feared any other illness. Blair wouldn't be stupid about it, but the spectre of HIV couldn't drive him away from Jim. _Jim_ was the one who let it drive a wedge between them. Jim's first instinct was always to protect; he felt he had to protect Blair from this, too.

No wonder the "might be" tormented him.

There was more. Jim hadn't told Blair the details of his vision, but Blair recognised that whatever it was, it had led directly to Jim's decision. He was _led through his memories_...what did that mean? Memories Jim had repressed? Blair knew the circumstances in which Jim had received his Sentinel gift were deeply traumatic. Jim always said he didn't remember much about the eighteen months he spent in the jungle. To Blair, that meant he had repressed the memory of a traumatic event. Or events.

Jim had been raped. Jim wasn't allowed to repress that memory. Only days afterward, he forced himself to testify in court...his testimony had skipped over most of the details, but nevertheless, it couldn't have been easy for him. It wouldn't be the last time Jim would have to testify. Douglas' trial was still to come.

_Blair, you just failed psych one-oh-one. You don't know how Jim will react to the rape. He might close himself off, sexually, and if he does it's important to respect that he needs time to heal, but you can't know._

_What makes you think he chose me at random? The others weren't random._

_I'm begging you, Chief._

What had it cost Jim to say those words? How bad did he have to feel to say them? Jim didn't beg.

Blair had his own protective imperative. But for him it wasn't a city or a tribe. It was Jim Ellison. The day they met, Blair had found himself leaping in front of an oncoming juggernaut to protect Jim. _When you save someone's life you become their "Blessed Protector"._ Joking words, but there was real truth in them. He hadn't stopped trying to help Jim since that day. A week ago - was it really only a week? - he shot a man to protect Jim. The memory felt unreal. But he had done it. He used a gun - Jim's gun - and he really, really intended to kill that man. Douglas was alive only because Blair was a terrible shot in the dark.

The hardest thing of all was knowing he would do it again, if he had to.

*

When Blair emerged from the bedroom, Jim was still sitting beside the stove, exactly as Blair left him. He looked up as Blair walked in.

_I love you, Jim,_ Blair thought, as if somehow Jim's super-hearing could pick up the thought itself. His resolve was faltering already. He swallowed, hard, and took the seat opposite Jim.

"I get it, Jim. I know you're dealing with a lot, and if you need to play hands-off for a while, I can do it. But you _can't_ ask me to pretend it never happened, man. I don't know how to do that."

Jim said, "It was the only choice I could make, Chief. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. We're cool, man." His voice sounded brittle to his own ears. Surely Jim could hear that he was lying?

But if so, Jim gave no sign.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon note: the following chapter takes place after _Night Shift_ but before _Sentinel Too_. The time between the events may not fit perfectly with canon, but the order of events is correct.

#### Five Months Later

It was almost 4am when Blair finally gave up on the idea of a good night's sleep. He left his bed and headed into the kitchen for something to drink. He moved as quietly as he could to avoid waking Jim. He knew Jim hadn't been sleeping well, and there were definite disadvantages to his enhanced hearing: the slightest sound could wake him...especially lately. Blair opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. He couldn't turn on a light for the same reason he didn't dare make a sound, but he began to search for a glass by touch; having lived with Jim for three years he was good at this.

It was then he saw Jim. He stood, a dark silhouette against the window, looking out over the neon-lit city. Blair stayed where he was for a moment, watching Jim. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he became aware of Jim's clothing: he wore a pair of jeans and nothing else, recalling for Blair the day five months before when he found Jim on the mountainside. The city lights beamed into the room through the glass, illuminating the planes and curves of Jim's body. It was a bittersweet moment for Blair, looking at what he had almost lost, and still couldn't have.

_I call it a violation of friendship and trust_, Jim had told him the night before, and Blair had known, looking into his friend's eyes, that Jim meant it, despite the hypocrisy of his words. Jim violated Blair's trust by reading his introductory chapter in the first place. But Blair hadn't handled it well. Hurt, again, by Jim's inability to understand where he was coming from, he threw the words back in Jim's face.

_Maybe I have lost my objectivity. I'll tell you what - I'd rather just be friends._

Just friends. A bitterness there he should never have spoken. Just friends. It was all Jim had asked of him: his friendship. Now Blair wasn't sure they even had that much. After the fight, Jim encouraged him to continue with his dissertation - not that Blair thought he could have given it up at this stage - but he had been very distant with Blair since then. He was short tempered around the bullpen, too.

Blair walked to Jim's side, still carrying the bottle of water. He got a glance of acknowledgment, but Jim didn't speak.

"Is it the trial?" Blair asked quietly, naming the thing that was responsible for his own lack of sleep.

They had waited five months for Richard Douglas to come to trial. Five months of trying to live a normal life - as normal as their lives ever were. The waiting was almost over. It was a relief, but it was frightening too. Blair was _not_ looking forward to facing Douglas again. Every time he thought of that day it raised a complex web of emotions in him, feelings Blair really didn't know how to deal with. As for Douglas himself, Blair had never hated anyone before. Not like this. He didn't like the feeling.

How must it be affecting Jim?

But Jim answered, "No, it's not the trial. I was thinking about Johnny Macado."

Blair frowned, then placed the name. "The kid who's going to testify against Kaplan? The car thief?"

"That's the one," Jim confirmed.

It wasn't like Jim to dwell on a closed case. The kid agreed to testify, the DA agreed to grant him immunity in return, the mob lawyer was behind bars, at least until some judge granted him bail, and the case was closed. Why was this keeping Jim awake?

"What about him, man? Simon said everything was okay."

Jim turned away from the window. "While you were investigating your 'angel', I was going through Johnny's social services record. When he was in the interrogation room he kept asking to call his mother. He said she worked at the hospital. It turned out she was a patient. On the AIDS wing."

"Oh." It was all Blair could think of to say.

"When I told Johnny I knew...the look on his face, Chief. He said, 'It's not what you think.' Like he was expecting the blame for it or something."

"But you helped him."

"Of course I did! I wish I could do more. You know why he was stealing cars, Chief? To pay for his mother's medication. But that doesn't bother me as much as what he said. What he thought."

"He made an assumption, Jim," Blair argued. "Kids like that don't trust cops."

"He's right, though, isn't he? About what people think."

Blair nodded reluctantly. "A woman with HIV is a hooker; a man's a queer. Yeah, I think some people still see it that way. There's bigotry everywhere." At least now he understood what was keeping Jim awake. Jim was still living with HIV. Blair prayed, and not for the first time, that Jim's test would come up negative. When he finally got to take it. It was still four weeks away.

"Kaplan offered the kid a fortune to lie for him," Jim said. "He was just thinking of his mother. I just...I can't shake the feeling that doing the right thing was the wrong thing for him."

"Kaplan tried to have him killed," Blair reminded him. _And Gabe took the bullet._

"Yeah," Jim said, but his tone was neutral, not one of agreement.

It wasn't Kaplan who was bothering Jim, Blair knew. It was the boy. "If you're really worried about Johnny, why not give Declan a call?"

"Declan? Why?"

"He might be able to help the kid. If his mother is an AIDS patient he'll be easy for Declan to find."

"I don't know, Chief," Jim said dubiously. He walked away from the window, settling down on the nearby couch.

Perhaps the suggestion was a bit presumptuous. Declan wasn't a good-Samaritan-on-call or anything like that. But it couldn't hurt to _ask_ him. Blair was about to say so when Jim added:

"I don't think I'm comfortable with asking a man like that to look after a boy Johnny's age."

"A man like...?" Blair repeated incredulously. "What are you talking about, man?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Blair really didn't. He thought Jim and Declan got along well. Jim had accepted Declan as a counsellor after the rape - admittedly only after Simon told him he had to see _someone_ before he could return to work - but if he hadn't trusted Declan he could have seen the department shrink. What was Jim talking about now?

He sat on the arm of the couch and spread his hands, looking at Jim in honest confusion. "No...what?"

"Malone has a record. Remember?"

Light dawned, and with it came real anger at Jim's short-sightedness. "_One_ arrest, man! He wasn't even charged! What happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

"I'm a cop. I see guilty people get away with it all the time, Chief. One arrest for statutory rape - you _do_ know that's another way of saying child abuse, don't you? And you want me to trust him with a kid?"

"I can't believe this is coming out of your mouth!" Blair stood up, walking a few paces in exasperation before rounding on Jim. "I don't know what the story is behind that arrest. But I remember the date on that file. It was about that time he and Sandy first met. Sandy would have been fifteen."

"So you _do_ think he was guilty."

It took a lot to render Blair speechless, but that one did. For a long moment he had no idea what to say. "Well...um...I...I guess so. _Technically_. But..."

"But what? You think it's okay for a doctor to screw a fifteen year old boy?"

Blair remembered his own sexuality at fifteen: furtive groping in an alley behind the apartment building where he lived with Naomi and her latest flame; gentler explorations in the nearby woods, young pleasures spiced with the fear of discovery; and one, terrifying but unforgettable encounter with a boy several years older than he...

"No, Jim, I don't think it's okay. But I don't think it's automatically wrong, either. Not when it's consensual. Look, man, I knew Sandy. Those two were in love. There was nothing weird about it, nothing unhealthy, unless you count Sandy's condition. Declan was devoted to him. I can't believe they did anything wrong, even if it was technically illegal."

Jim looked as if he was about to argue, but all he said was, "Maybe you're right, Chief. Maybe I'll talk to him."

It felt like a dismissal. Blair grabbed his bottle of water and returned to bed. Jim, he thought resentfully, hadn't bothered to ask why _he_ was awake all night.

*

Ellison was in the truck, driving back to Cascade PD after a meeting with an informant, when he finally decided to call Malone. Sandburg was probably right about him; Ellison usually trusted his partner's judgement, and he knew Malone was good at his job. Ellison called Malone's office on his cellphone as he drove, but he got through to a secretary who told him Malone was at the Centre that day. Ellison wasn't far from the Centre, so he turned the truck around.

The AIDS Centre was far less crowded than the last time Ellison was there - Sandy's wake - but seemed otherwise unchanged. The same posters adorned the walls, the same neutral colours filled the gaps and they still served the same bad coffee. Ellison asked after Malone and was told he was with someone.

"He'll be another ten or fifteen minutes, I think," the woman told him. "You're welcome to wait. Or perhaps someone else can help you?"

Ellison discreetly showed the woman his shield. "I'm Detective Ellison. Doctor Malone worked with me a few months ago as a consultant on a case. I just need to talk to him." Not quite the truth, but it would do.

"Have a seat, Detective. I'll let him know you're here as soon as he's free." It was a subtle way of telling him she wasn't willing to interrupt Malone's meeting, but Ellison hadn't needed to be told. He waited.

His eyes moving idly over posters warning about unsafe sex, it occurred to Ellison that there was more than one reason Sandburg had suggested he seek out Malone. Was this Sandburg's way of dropping a hint? Ellison was tired of Sandburg making judgements about his emotional state. What did he know, anyway?

Sandburg _didn't_ know Ellison. For all his questions and constant analysing of Ellison's every move and every word, for all his prying into parts of Ellison's life that were none of Sandburg's business, Sandburg did _not_ know him. Not that well.

Ellison was tired of being Sandburg's lab-rat.

"Jim," Declan's quiet voice reached him from across the room.

Ellison stood. Being here seemed a bad idea, suddenly. It was a few months since he last saw Malone and that had been professionally - Malone's profession. The memory was uncomfortable now. Malone was walking toward him and it was too late for Ellison to leave.

"What can I do for you, Jim?"

"Can we talk somewhere private?"

"Of course." Malone led Ellison into a side room. It wasn't an office. The room was furnished like someone's living room: pale green wallpaper with framed prints on each wall, soft furnishings, a coffee table and curtains at the window.

"Very homey," Ellison commented.

"How can I help you?" Malone gestured to the couch and Ellison took a seat. Malone sat in the easy chair, at right-angles to Ellison. Ellison remembered that position from their counselling sessions.

He wasn't here for counselling. "I was hoping you could do me a favour. It's a little out of your field..." Ellison explained about Johnny and his concerns for the boy.

"What can I do?"

"Maybe nothing," Ellison shrugged. "I don't know. I think he just needs someone to look out for him, but he wouldn't trust help coming from a cop. Social Services made his life difficult."

Malone nodded. "Instead of letting him know there are support systems available, they probably tried to take him away from his mother. It happens too often." A frown creased his brow for a moment. "I think I know the boy you mean, but he's an isolated kid. Maybe if you lend me a set of handcuffs I could keep him in one place long enough to talk to him."

Ellison laughed. "That bad?"

"I'm joking. I think. If we're thinking of the same kid he spends a lot of time at the hospital. I'll talk to him and see if there's anything I can do. There may be nothing, though." Malone's eyes met Ellison's quizzically. "Why are you taking such an interest?"

A few moments before Ellison had been laughing. When he heard the question amusement fled before a hot flash of anger. "Don't start analysing me. I get enough of that from Sandburg!"

"I'm not analysing you," Malone answered mildly. "I asked a question, that's all." The mild response defused some of Ellison's anger. "Forgive me, but...it seems as if there's something else on your mind."

"There isn't," Ellison answered shortly. Then he added, reluctantly, "Sandburg thinks I'm wound up because of the trial."

"Richard Douglas' trial?"

Ellison nodded. "But he's wrong. I'm fine."

"It can't be just another arrest for you."

A memory: Ellison pacing in front of Malone, wearing a hole in the carpet as he forced himself to relive what Douglas did to him. Malone already knew almost everything about it. There was no holding his feelings back from this man.

"Just another arrest? I want that bastard put away so badly I can _taste_ it! But I'm okay, Declan. I really am."

"Then perhaps it's Blair who isn't okay. He could be transferring his own feelings about the trial onto you. Blair - "

"That sounds more like it. It would be typical of him lately."

"Lately? Have you two been arguing?"

"I didn't come here for counselling," Ellison said defensively.

"And I'm not offering it, Jim. But, as a friend, can I make a couple of observations?"

_Like what?_ Ellison didn't want someone else interfering in his life. But he _had_ come here for Malone's help, and the man had helped him before. He silently counted to ten before answering, "I'm listening."

"The first thing is Blair. If he _is_ having difficulties, with the trial so close, it's only to be expected. Unlike you, Jim, he never really faced up to what happened to him. The second thing...I know this is none of my business, but I do know that sometimes the onlooker sees more of the game." He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes meeting Ellison's. "Jim, a few months ago you made a big decision about your relationship with Blair. I know, because you told me, he wasn't happy about the choice you made. Is it possible that whatever has changed between you recently is a consequence of that decision?"

Ellison hadn't expected that. He hadn't come here to talk about Sandburg.

For a moment, Ellison was tempted to tell Malone everything: how Sandburg's constant analysing him was pissing him off; how they had agreed Ellison would read his research before he submitted anything, but Sandburg went back on that promise; how when he _had_ read it he was offended by Sandburg's presentation of him...but Ellison couldn't tell Malone any of that. Not without explaining why he was the subject of Sandburg's thesis.

The silence was becoming awkward. Ellison swallowed. "Are you saying I made the wrong decision?"

Malone's expression gave nothing away. "Right or wrong doesn't matter. You made the choice you thought was right at the time. In fact, you told me you felt you didn't _have_ a choice. All I'm saying is that actions have consequences. Not always what you expect."

Malone stood abruptly. "If you want to talk about it, Jim, you know where to find me."

Ellison recognised a dismissal. He wasn't used to Malone being so abrupt. But then, he wasn't Malone's patient any more, and he had asked for this. He nodded, standing up."

*

The café was almost deserted: Megan and Blair were the only customers there. Blair chose a table as far as possible from the counter, so their conversation would be private. He still didn't know what he would say to her. Megan dragged him out here for coffee because he and Jim had been arguing again. It wasn't surprising that they were both on edge. The trial was due to begin today.

"Here you go," Megan smiled as she offered the mug to Blair.

He accepted it gratefully. Blair glanced down at the liquid in the mug and noticed it was camomile tea rather than the coffee he requested. He returned her smile. Megan was a perceptive woman sometimes.

"You looked like you needed it," she offered by way of explanation.

"You're right," Blair agreed, sipping the hot tea.

She slid into a seat opposite him and set her cappuccino on the table between them. "Everyone seems edgy about this trial. I know cops sometimes personalise a case, but - "

Blair set the mug down. "This one _is_ personal, Megan."

"The way Joel tells it, it's just another murder case."

So Joel had lied to her, and now Blair was on the spot. For a second, Blair resented it. But he had agreed to have coffee with Megan because he needed someone to talk to. She was the only cop in Major Crimes who didn't know what happened, because she hadn't been with them at the time.

Blair sighed into his tea. "Joel wouldn't have told you. It wasn't 'just a murder', Megan, and it wasn't just an arrest. Douglas..." Just saying the man's name brought everything back. It was a dizzying rush of memories. The smell of gunpowder and Jim's blood in a dark cellar. Blair swallowed, hard, trying to banish the memory.

"Sandy?"

"Douglas raped three men," Blair managed to say eventually. Actually, there had been more than three: when Joel took over the investigation (while Jim was still on medical leave) he found two others that went unreported before Douglas' arrest. But the charges against Douglas related to only the three: Carl, Vincent and Jim, because of the forensic evidence. Blair drank more tea, then looked up, meeting Megan's eyes. He added, bluntly, "One of them was Jim."

Her eyes opened wide in shock. "I didn't know...oh, my god, Sandy, what...? How...?"

"It was a tough case from the start," Blair hedged. "We went out to interview Douglas and...I don't know how much of this I should tell you. I know everyone else knows, but..."

"Jim wouldn't like you talking to me?" she guessed.

"Would you, in his place?"

A silence, broken only by the noise coming from the kitchen: the café staff going about their work. Then Megan said quietly, "I don't think I'd still be a cop, in his place."

"You know Jim. He wouldn't let this beat him." As he spoke, Blair wondered if that was true. Jim _seemed_ okay, most of the time. But that was during the day. Blair, living with Jim, saw a different side of him. He saw the Jim whose sleepless nights were becoming more and more frequent, who was increasingly restless and irritable. Not that Jim was depressed or anything: it wasn't that serious. Jim still ate properly, he still enjoyed all the usual things, he still laughed at Blair's jokes and teased him right back. But it wasn't the same. The big issue was still hanging over them.

No, Jim hadn't let Douglas beat him. But that last question still could.

"...high."

"Huh?"

"I said, it explains why tensions in the office are running high. I'm glad you told me, Sandy."

Sandy. Megan's nickname for him still felt wrong to Blair. He gave up asking her not to call him that, but the name still brought an odd feeling with it. Blair said nothing, finishing his tea. Camomile should have had a calming effect, but today nothing was likely to help him. He looked at his watch: three hours to go.

"Are you okay?" Megan asked him gently.

Blair pushed his empty mug away. "I don't even remember how okay feels." The wound was still too raw. Before he knew it, Blair was telling Megan everything.

He was no stranger to violence, not any more. Working with Jim, he was sometimes forced to fight. Jim expected Blair to be able to back him up, and Blair expected the same of himself. Though he continually resisted Jim's suggestion that he should carry a gun, he _had_ allowed Jim to take him to the Police shooting range and show him how a gun works and on the rare occasions Jim handed Blair a gun he was confident enough to point it the right way. Could he have pulled the trigger on any of those occasions, if the situation demanded it? Blair honestly didn't know.

Blair recognised in himself a capacity for impulsive violence; the rush of adrenaline in a genuinely life-threatening situation could bring out the most primitive tendencies in any man. It bothered him, sometimes, but not too much: he grew up with the same media images as everyone his age. The media "real man" conflicted with the ideals he learned from Naomi enough to make him feel guilty, but not enough to turn him away from the friendship he had chosen.

But that day was the first - and only - time Blair knowingly and deliberately tried to kill.

Sitting in an empty coffee shop with a woman he liked, but couldn't really claim to know, Blair gave in to the frustrations of five months and for the first time told someone what he really felt about that day. He tried to kill a man. He wanted Douglas dead. Not just for Jim, though that was certainly his immediate concern. For Carl, who would never fully recover from his injuries. For "Vincent", dead in a filthy gutter.

Blair was terrified of facing Douglas again, but he didn't understand _why_ and that made him feel selfish because if _he_ was having trouble with this, what the hell must Jim be going through? And then, the floodgates finally open, Blair confessed how unhappy he was with their friendship. Jim was _different_ since it happened. Everything was different. It felt like he was looking at his life through a distorting mirror in a carnival. Nothing was quite like it was supposed to be.

Somewhere in the middle of all Blair was saying, Megan reached across the table, covering his hand with her own. She said little until Blair was finished, just small comments that let him know she was listening.

Blair's voice fell silent. His eyes focussed on their joined hands. He withdrew his hand slowly, ashamed of himself for sharing so much. He raised his eyes to hers, cringing inwardly, dreading what she might say.

Megan's eyes were sympathetic. "Jim is very lucky," she said, "to have someone who loves him so much."

*

The courthouse was an imposing building. Blair had been there before, but he never really looked at the architecture. Faux-classical pillars stood before a huge set of doors; the building seemed designed to make the visitor feel tiny. Blair hesitated outside the doors, remembering his conversation with Megan, and the earlier argument with Jim.

Jim had no intention of being at the courthouse today. He would not be called to testify until Wednesday; he would be in court then. In the meantime, he had a job to do. Blair felt differently. As reluctant as he was to face Douglas again, he believed that if he avoided being in court today, it would only get harder. He even went so far as to arrange leave from the university for the duration of the trial. When he said as much to Jim, he'd gotten another lecture about personalising the case.

At that point Blair ended the conversation. Already too tense to think straight, Jim's implication was more than Blair could handle. Not personal? How could this _not_ be personal? If he said anything, it would have turned into a major row. Not worth it. That was when Megan intervened and Blair was grateful she had. When he left her he felt much better. He headed back to the loft to shower and change, then came here, to the courthouse. Alone.

He took a deep breath and began to move toward the doors.

"Blair."

The voice was accompanied by a touch on his shoulder and Blair started, almost falling down the steps as he turned to the speaker. Regaining his balance awkwardly he looked up. He recognised both men instantly: Declan and Carl Jeffries.

Declan caught Blair's arm to steady him. "A bit early to be drinking, isn't it?" he teased.

"Not today," Blair answered by reflex. He looked at Carl, who wasn't smiling. Blair didn't need to ask why. He was here for the same reason as Blair.

"Carl wanted some company, and I was planning to be here anyway," Declan told him. "Shall we go inside?"

A room had been set aside for the witnesses in the case: they would not be allowed into the courtroom itself. Certainly not before all the evidence was in. A clerk led them into the room and a few minutes later Emma Farnesse joined them there.

Blair remembered Farnesse, from his own trial and from the preparations for this one. His first impression of her hadn't been good, but then she had been the "enemy". He revised his opinion of her later. She had been absolutely professional on the occasions Blair had met her. Today she looked harried.

"The case will be called at two, so I have to be quick," she said, addressing everyone in the room. "The legal arguments will take up most of this afternoon, but we should begin calling witnesses before we adjourn for the day. I'll make sure you get plenty of warning, so don't feel you have to stay if you feel uncomfortable being here. I know appearing in court can be difficult. Try to relax and just tell the truth as you remember it. Are there any last minute questions?"

There were none.

She nodded. "Good. Doctor Malone, if you have a moment...?"

That one surprised Blair. He glanced at Carl as Declan left the room. Carl looked ill. Blair moved to his side, taking the seat that had been Declan's. "Are you okay, man?" Stupid question. Stupid, stupid question.

Carl shook his head silently.

"Anything I can do?"

"Maybe." Carl wouldn't meet Blair's eyes. "You work with the cops, don't you?"

Blair agreed that he did.

"Are you sure they got the right man?"

For a moment the question shocked Blair. Of course they got the right man! Then he remembered Carl didn't know everything he did. Carl never saw his attacker.

"They got the right man, Carl," he said firmly. "Trust me on this one." He didn't want to explain...he _couldn't_.

Luck was with him: Declan returned. He saw where Blair was sitting and his mouth quirked in a brief smile. Blair caught the expression and smiled back briefly. "News, Declan?"

"Nothing I can share."

Blair frowned. "You know something about this case I don't?"

Declan's eyes flickered to Carl: warning Blair not to say too much. "Only professionally," he answered evasively.

Blair nodded uneasily. For no clear reason, he was thinking of Jim again.


	9. Nine

#### Two Days Later, Evening

Ellison tilted his head back, pouring the last of the cold beer down his throat. It was good to be able to relax, finally. When Sandburg suggested they invite Malone for dinner Ellison agreed because he didn't want to spend this particular evening alone with Sandburg. As far as he was concerned, he had given his testimony, and the damned trial was done with, for him. If Sandburg needed to see it through to the end that was his business. Ellison's job, as a cop, was done.

Discussion of the trial was banned by mutual agreement during dinner but later, as the three men relaxed - Ellison with his beer, Sandburg with what was left of the wine and Malone with a coffee - conversation naturally turned that way. Ellison was trying to tune their debate out until Malone said something that got his attention, fast.

"Blair, I think you should prepare yourself for the likelihood that Douglas won't be found guilty."

Ellison's eyes snapped open and he stared at Malone, disbelieving. Beside him, Sandburg's expression was a mirror of his own.

It was Sandburg who spoke up first. "What are you talking about, man? He's guilty!"

Malone, not a witness in the case, had spent some time in the courtroom watching the trial. His refusal to testify had surprised Ellison, but Malone felt he had a conflict of interest and Emma Farnesse had agreed and found someone else to offer expert testimony.

Looking at Malone's carefully controlled expression, Ellison wondered what exactly his "conflict of interest" was. Ellison assumed, originally, that he meant the fact that he was counselling Carl Jeffries and himself. Was there something more?

"He is guilty," Malone answered, directing his words to Sandburg, "in the sense that Douglas, no one else, committed these crimes. The facts aren't in dispute. Douglas' attorney is pleading insanity, and - "

"He wasn't insane! The fucking bastard knew exactly what he was doing!"

Malone's eyes met Ellison's briefly. Ellison understood the unspoken message. Ellison _had_ been in the courtroom today; Sandburg hadn't. Giving evidence, trying to speak dispassionately about what had been done to him, was hard. Despite his determination to treat this as just another case, he knew it wasn't. It could never be.

Ellison's actual memory of the rape was not - would never be - more than vague impressions of pain. He knew exactly what happened, but there was a distance in it, like the memory of watching a movie. His nightmares of that day, however, were vivid, far more so than the memory. The nightmares kept him awake at night, driving him to pace at the foot of his bed to ward off sleep, or to the window, to watch and listen to his city until dawn brought relief.

Ellison regretted, occasionally, the growing distance between himself and Sandburg. He regretted even more forcing them both to sleep alone. Those nightmares could have been driven away in far more pleasant ways...if it were possible.

What it all added up to was a genuine need to have the case over with. Unlike most of his work, this one couldn't be laid to rest until it was truly over. Ellison had been dreading his day in court. It would be the first time since the assault that he had been in the same room with Douglas. He wasn't afraid...at least, not of the man. He was afraid of what his senses would do to him. The scent of cheap cologne haunted the original investigation and it filled Ellison's nightmares. He should have shared his fears with Sandburg, who could have helped him keep his senses under control. He planned to talk to Sandburg...but Sandburg's thesis painted Ellison a coward. After reading that, Ellison was unable to share anything. He had to walk into that room alone.

In court that day, Ellison faced the man who raped him for the first time. He expected to feel...something. Anger, hate, fear...god, anything. He felt very little.

Ellison gave evidence in court frequently. It was part of his job. The courtroom was a familiar place, and the people were all known to him - by function if not by name. So he knew the man seated in the defendant's place was Richard Douglas. He was barely recognisable as the man Ellison interviewed five months earlier. This certainly wasn't the man whose voice haunted Ellison's nights.

Douglas was a body builder, vain of his appearance. Ellison remembered he had lost an arm after Sandburg shot him: the bullets shattered the humerus of his left arm, but that was the least of the changes in the man. Douglas had lost a lot of weight, and his formerly powerful musculature was gone. His hair was longer, but clung lankly to his head above a face that was pale and gaunt. There was no attempt to conceal the amputation, but Douglas' suit was well-tailored and he would have appeared healthy to someone who hadn't known him five months before. To Ellison's eyes he looked very ill.

He had HIV, Ellison remembered, then wished he could have missed that glimpse into the future. It was difficult to equate this man with his five-month ordeal. Facing him, far from making things worse, helped Ellison begin to lay the past to rest.

So Ellison understood Malone's silent reminder that Sandburg - at the moment - did not have the full picture here.

Sandburg's outburst still hung in the air between them. Privately Ellison agreed with him: when he interviewed Douglas that day the man was rational and calm. His actions had been precise, calculated. He wasn't insane.

"Are you qualified to make that judgement, Blair?" Malone asked. When Sandburg didn't answer, Malone continued, "A court psychologist found him fit to stand trial, but I don't believe he is. Whatever his mental state at the time of his arrest, he's not mentally fit now."

"He's not insane," Sandburg repeated.

"The legal definition of insanity is an inability to distinguish right from wrong. By that definition, Douglas hasn't been sane for a long time, Blair. I _am_ qualified to make that judgement."

"So he's going to get away with this?" Blair demanded.

Malone shook his head. "No judge will let him walk free, Blair. A not guilty verdict will mean the difference between a jail cell and a maximum security hospital. Which means St Vitus - it's the only place in this state that has both the security and the facilities to handle his medical condition."

"That's not what I asked."

"Will he get away with it? Is it justice you want, Blair? Or is this about revenge?"

Ellison was uncomfortable witnessing the exchange. He muttered something about getting more beer and excused himself. He remembered what Malone said to him about Sandburg not facing up to something and guessed Malone was trying to lead the conversation around to that. Ellison couldn't decide if the man was a saint or just liked interfering without invitation. Sandburg wasn't Malone's patient, and he hadn't asked for help. On the other hand, there was nothing to stop Sandburg telling him to go to hell if he went too far.

"How can you ask me that, man? You know what he did!" Sandburg's voice carried to Ellison in the kitchen. He could rarely tune out Sandburg's voice completely: he trained himself too well to pay attention to that sound. Reluctantly, he listened to Malone's reply.

"So it _is_ revenge. You need to think of him as some sort of a monster, as evil, because then what you did is okay. Is that it?"

"Declan, don't. Please." Blair's voice was quiet.

"Don't help you?"

"Don't...be so fucking insightful. And don't pretend that what that bastard did _wasn't_ evil."

"But the issue on your mind is you, not Douglas. Do you really think you did the wrong thing? Under all the circumstances."

Ellison knew the answer to that one. Sandburg did exactly the right thing. If the consequences were more than expected that didn't make his action wrong. They _talked_ about that! Was Sandburg still dwelling on it? Punishing himself?

Sandburg said, "I don't think it's black and white, Declan. I've gone over that day so many times..."

"If the exact same thing happened tomorrow, would you do it again?"

Sandburg didn't hesitate. "Yes." There was just a trace of defiance in the word.

It reassured Ellison immediately. He felt a surge of pride in his friend. Sandburg had his priorities straight, at least. He leaned on the kitchen counter, watching Blair shake his head as he continued speaking. It wasn't only pride he felt.

*

_ He was running through the jungle. The ground was soft and springy beneath his feet. Occasionally a twig or a nutshell cracked loudly beneath his weight. He was running._

_ Sweat ran down his face, shiny, ticklish rivulets covering his face, neck and chest. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging. He raised an arm to wipe his eyes and saw red scratches criss-crossed on his forearm. He kept running._

_ Branches reached for him, scratching skin so blood mingled with the sweat pouring down him. Thorns tore cloth and flesh. He ran onward._

_ A creature leapt into his path, a blur of fur and motion. He recognised golden eyes, ancient as the jungle. He fell._

_Fell into darkness and void._

_ Strong arms caught him. The scent of a human body surrounded him. In the darkness he felt hair brushing his face. It was familiar. Needed. Blair. A naked body in his arms. They came together, sharing breath, loud in the silent darkness. _

_ The body he held shifted, moving against him in a timeless gesture. His cock swelled with blood and need. His fingers gripped firm buttocks, spreading them apart and he thrust his way into the writhing body. Hot and willing. Taking him in, all of him. Devouring. Eager. Golden eyes pierced the darkness and he cried out in fear._

And woke, his body sheened with sweat. His cock wilting, semen staining the sheets, cooling on his skin.

The scents of the dream still surrounded him. Blair's sweat and arousal. The sound of Blair's breathing, harsh with sex. But not with him, Jim realised. Below him. He can hear and smell Blair masturbating.

Fighting an almost-overpowering urge to go down to Blair, Jim took a deliberate deep breath and tried to dial back his senses. To block out the sound of Blair's hand on his flesh, the smell of his need... But the part of Jim that wanted Blair wouldn't allow him to dial it back. He was with Blair throughout, his partner's pleasure echoing through Jim's nerves.

Blair's final gasp of Jim's name echoed through the loft like a shout.

*

The trial continued for three weeks. Blair showed up at the courthouse the day after their dinner with Declan and was told Emma had decided not to call him as a witness. With the facts of the case undisputed his testimony was unnecessary, and she explained to Blair that if he took the stand, cross examination would probably focus on what he had done to Douglas. She felt that was irrelevant and didn't want to complicate the issue. Blair would have been happy with that, except he still wasn't allowed into the courtroom. He was still a witness. It was frustrating.

At home Jim seemed on edge, and Blair wasn't much better. It got to the point where they couldn't spend an hour in the same room without arguing. Eventually, Blair took to spending his evenings at Rainier, working until he could barely keep his eyes open and returning to the loft only to sleep. He re-wrote the introductory chapter of his thesis that Jim took such exception to, and got down to some seriously hard work on the rest. He began to make some real progress.

Two weeks into the trial, in a determined effort to de-stress, Blair decided to take a night off work on his thesis. He couldn't spend the night at home so he went out on the town instead. After wandering from club to club for a few hours, he ended up at Rocky's nightclub.

When Jim broke off their relationship, Blair promised himself he would be faithful to Jim, regardless. It was a promise he hadn't quite managed to keep. Blair _had_ dated, but he kept it casual and hadn't even considered dating another man. Walking into "the Circus" that night, his intention was to enjoy the atmosphere, nothing more. Have a drink, maybe a dance.

Blair went to the bar to order a drink and found Carl Jeffries there, working behind the bar. Carl gave him a beer, took his money, then asked him to dance. Blair hesitated.

"I said a dance, man. Don't worry, it's not a sales pitch." Carl's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "I don't do that any more."

Blair nodded. "I could use one dance."

Carl leapt over the bar to join Blair and they headed for the dance floor, Blair's beer abandoned on the bar.

Dancing with Carl was fun. Harmless fun. Carl was a born hustler, but Blair knew his flirtation wasn't serious and knowing that, enjoyed flirting back. He was relaxed and slightly drunk after the other clubs he had visited. One dance became two, then a third and it was during the third dance that someone cut in on their fun.

The man came up behind Carl while they danced and slipped his hands around Carl's waist, holding him close and moving with the dance. He looked at Blair, not at Carl, and for a few moments the three men moved as one in time with the music. Blair wasn't offended by the intrusion. Indeed the stranger was interesting...the man had the looks of a model or an actor: tousled, blonde hair, dark eyes, a deep bronze tan. Blair saw a flash of gold from an earring as they danced. Their eyes met for the first time and Blair felt an instant spark of attraction between them. He envied Carl, who was leaning into the stranger's arms.

The man leaned in, speaking into Carl's ear. "Mind if I cut in, honey?" His eyes never left Blair's.

Blair could hardly breathe, waiting for Carl's response.

Carl laughed, turning in the stranger's arms. Blair couldn't hear what he said, but the next moment Carl was gone and those leather-clad arms were snaking around Blair's waist. There was a question in the smoky eyes. Blair didn't hesitate this time - it was only a dance. He moved into the man's arms, letting his action answer the question. The smell of new leather and expensive after-shave filled the air around him and right on cue the music changed to something slower.

It was only a dance. Neither man spoke a word, but they certainly managed to communicate. This was more than Blair bargained for tonight. The attraction he felt for this man was all physical...but it was very strong. The more so because he had been as good as celibate for nearly six months. As the song ended he looked up at his dance partner, about to speak. He found that sensual mouth covering his own. Blair froze in surprise.

The other man drew back with a smile. "I had to do that."

Disconcerted, Blair backed off. He seized the opportunity presented by the gap in the music and fled back to the bar.

Carl passed him a new bottle of beer. "Do you two want to get a room?" he asked with a grin. "Or maybe a stall?"

"Now there's an interesting idea."

Blair heard the voice but didn't turn around. "I'm flattered, but no."

The man perched himself on a tall stool beside Blair. "Damn, I knew that was too fast. I'm sorry." A warm hand covered Blair's. "Can we start again? I'm Andrew."

Despite himself, Blair nodded. "I'm Blair."

"Blair," Andrew repeated. Then, to Carl, "Two on the rocks, honey." His hand still covered Blair's fingers. "I didn't mean to offend you. I thought we wanted the same thing."

Blair withdrew his hand. "I don't know what I want," he admitted. "But it's not a quick fuck in a toilet stall. And if you ask me what I charge I _will_ be offended."

Andrew laughed, a warm, rich sound. "If I thought that, I wouldn't be wasting my time. I couldn't afford you."

That was unlikely to be true. Andrew's appearance and easy confidence spoke of wealth. "Damned right," Blair muttered, and was rewarded by more laughter. He couldn't take his eyes off Andrew: the arch of his throat as he laughed, the full lips and bright eyes. He realised that, a few years earlier, he would have jumped at Carl's suggestion, if Andrew was willing. But his life was more complicated now.

Carl reappeared with two glasses of Jack Daniel's. Blair hesitated before accepting; it wasn't his usual drink. Andrew's eyes never left his, and finally Blair nodded, raising the glass to his lips. "Thanks." He hoped he hadn't committed to more than a dance.

After several more drinks and more than a few dances, Blair decided he very much enjoyed Andrew's company. In fact, he hadn't enjoyed himself as much for a long time. Andrew didn't try to kiss him again, but his interest was clear enough. Now they were on the dance floor again, Andrew moving against Blair's back, his hands on his waist, rubbing his groin against Blair's ass...turning them both on. Blair leaned back against him, enjoying the contact. He felt Andrew's breath on his neck and turned his head, accepting the kiss.

The kiss was brief, but electrifying, their mutual desire very evident. Andrew whispered into Blair's ear: "I want you."

Decision time. Blair turned and looked into Andrew's eyes. It was so easy to picture what Andrew wanted, and he knew it would be sweet. Just sex, just physical. No strings. He opened his mouth to say yes.

A huge weight slammed into Blair's back. It drove him forward into Andrew's arms. Andrew, unprepared, lost his balance and ended up on his back with Blair on top of him.

Under other circumstances it would have been funny, or cause for further flirtation. But as Blair caught his breath he heard angry shouts behind him. Scrambling to his feet, he turned to confront whoever was yelling. The man who knocked into him was circling another, gearing up for a fight. Bar fights weren't that unusual in Rocky's - a crowd of spectators was already forming, people moving into a circle around the two men. Blair looked for security and saw one of the bouncers on the edge of the crowd, trying to push his way through.

Then the fight took a nasty turn: one of the men pulled a knife. Blair reacted instinctively, stepping between the two men.

He faced the armed man, both hands extended in a gesture of peace. "You don't want to do that, man. Put the knife away, huh?" He kept his eyes on the man in front of him. Blair only had to stall - that bouncer would be with them in a moment.

"Who the fuck are you?" the knife-wielder snarled.

"Just calm down, man..."

The man charged. Not at Blair - at his original opponent. He tried to shove Blair out of his way. Blair dodged and made a grab for the knife. He grasped the hand holding the weapon and twisted it away from them both, hurting the man and trying to hold on.

What happened next was a blur. A hand shoved Blair's chest, forcing him back. He lost his grip on the man's other hand. The next moment he felt cold steel slice into his flesh.

Blair looked down to see blood on his clothing. Heard someone shout his name. Then Andrew was at his side, supporting him. Blair was grateful for the support. He clutched his wounded side, allowing Andrew to guide him away from the fight. He never saw how it ended.

"Are you okay?" Andrew asked him breathlessly.

"Stupid question," Blair muttered. He lifted his hand away from the wound. There was a lot of blood, and it hurt like hell. But it could have been worse. He was still on his feet, and the flow of blood wasn't as bad as it looked: the knife hadn't hit anything vital.

"Can you walk?" Andrew asked.

Blair nodded. "Yeah."

"Come on, then. I'm taking you to the hospital."

Blair didn't argue.

*

Ellison was watching TV when the telephone disturbed his quiet evening. He snatched up the receiver. "Ellison." He was immediately aware of the sounds of a hospital in the background. The caller was using a cellphone. It wasn't someone he knew.

"My name is Andrew Hamilton," the caller told him. "Blair gave me your number. I'm with him at the ER."

Ellison's heart lurched. "What happened? Is Sandburg all right?"

"He tried to break up a fight and got stabbed for his trouble. The doctor said it's superficial: he's going to be fine. Blair asked me to call you and let you know."

"I'm on my way," Ellison said instantly, then added, "Thanks for taking care of him."

Only after he hung up did Ellison realise he hadn't asked which hospital. He thought back over the call, remembering the sounds in the background until he identified the place.

Ellison drove quickly, sick with fear for his friend despite Hamilton's assurances. A knife wound could be nasty. _He got stabbed..._ The words made his blood run cold. He needed to see for himself that Sandburg was okay.

At the ER he argued briefly with the woman on reception, then found Sandburg in a cubicle, sitting on the edge of a gurney. He was shirtless, and a white dressing covered the wound, leaving no way for Ellison to guess how bad it was. The man at Sandburg's side looked familiar...Ellison didn't like the way he stood so close to Blair.

"Are you okay, Chief?"

"I'm good, man. Didn't even need stitches."

"What happened?"

"There was a fight at Rocky's. No big deal, man."

"No big deal?" Ellison repeated, incredulous. Getting stabbed was no big deal?

Sandburg rolled his eyes. "Jim's a cop," he said to the other man. Then, to Ellison: "I'm not hurt, man. I could have been, but I'm okay. The guy was drunk. I don't want to make a fuss over it, okay?"

In other words, quit being a cop over this. Ellison gave in reluctantly. They could discuss it later. "Okay. Are you allowed to come home?"

Instead of answering, Sandburg looked at the other man. Ellison frowned. He _did_ look familiar, but he couldn't think where he had seen him.

Hamilton said, "This isn't the kind of excitement I was looking for, but I guess we should call it a night. Some other time?"

"Um..." Blair had that frightened-rabbit look, suddenly, glancing from one man to the other. To Hamilton he said, "Are you going to be at the circus tomorrow?"

"No, I have to work." Hamilton dug into his pocked, producing a card. "Call me tomorrow, Blair. Even if it's only to let me know how you are."

"I will." Sandburg pocketed the card and turned to Ellison as Hamilton left them alone.

"New boyfriend, Chief?" Ellison asked, unable to keep the acid out of his voice.

"Not really. We just met. He helped me out when..." A gesture to his wound completed the sentence.

"Really? It looked more intimate than that." It was an accusation, not a question.

Blair's look answered him more clearly than words ever could. "Is it really any of your business, Jim?" he asked.

Evidently not.

*

#### Two Days Later

Tribal music filled the air around him, the primitive beat reverberating through his skin. Blair tapped his pen on the desk in an unconscious imitation of the beat. The essay in front of him was very good: the kind of work that made teaching worthwhile. He was smiling as he wrote an A on the cover.

That was when the telephone rang.

He reached behind him to turn off the music and answered the call. "Blair Sandburg."

"You never told me your last name."

The voice sent a flood of warmth through him. "Andrew?"

"How are your ribs?"

"Just great, man. Probably won't even scar."

"Free for lunch?"

"Uh...yeah, but there's somewhere I have to be at two." _Somewhere_ was Cascade PD with Jim, but Blair refrained from mentioning that.

"Where's your office? I'll pick you up."

"You did _that_ two nights ago." Blair laughed, pleased to hear Andrew laugh in return. He gave him directions to his building.

Andrew drove up in a very new car: yet another detail that suggested he was wealthy. He looked even better in daylight than he had at the club. Blair got into the car. "Where are we going?"

"If you're vegetarian, you'll have to tell me. I don't know any good places in Cascade."

"I'm not." The same old mating ritual. Blair enjoyed being the focus of it. But what did he really want from this game? That night at the club was just about sex, but this - continuing it beyond one night - was more. Blair wasn't sure what Andrew wanted, and was even less sure what _he_ did.

Lunch was steak served sizzling at the table in the restaurant attached to the newly-opened arts centre. The restaurant did brisk business without being too busy: Blair and Andrew had a private booth where they could talk without being overheard. It was easy to find things to talk about. Andrew asked Blair about his studies and Blair enjoyed talking about his work. Andrew was an interested listener who asked intelligent questions. Blair told him about his expedition to the jungle years before, which led to them discussing the other places they had been. Andrew entertained Blair with an account of a visit to Mexico - with a perfect imitation of the accents he had encountered as he related conversations.

"Where is it you have to be at two? I can give you a ride."

Blair hesitated, then wondered why. His work with Jim wasn't secret. "Cascade Police Department HQ."

Andrew's expression changed to one of concern. "You're not in trouble are you, Blair?"

Blair laughed. "No. I'm a consultant to the police department. I work with Jim...you met him the other night."

"You're right, I did." Andrew nodded. "So, what's the story there?"

"Story?"

"Jim. You. The story."

"There's...um...no story there. We're friends."

"Really? 'Cause he did _not_ like me being there at the hospital."

"Jim's just protective."

"And jealous."

Blair swallowed. Andrew was seeing too much for his comfort. He shook his head. "I don't think so. And if he _was_ jealous, that doesn't mean he has a right to be. There's nothing between us, man."

It was true. There was nothing. Five months earlier there might have been. Blair pushed the thought aside. "Will I...can I see you tonight?"

"I can't tonight. Or tomorrow. I'm..."

Blair got the message. "Oh. Okay," he said, disappointed. "Well, I guess..."

"Blair. This isn't me saying I'm not interested." Andrew reached across the table and took Blair's hand. It was the first time they had made physical contact that day. "I _am_ interested, Blair. I work in the evenings, that's all."

"What is it you do?"

"I'm an actor." He hadn't let go of Blair's hand. "You really didn't know?"

Blair withdrew his hand gently. "No...should I have known? Are you famous or something?"

"Evidently not," Andrew laughed. "No, I'm not famous. I've done some television. Cab-driver-number-two parts mostly. Soap opera. Nothing outstanding. I'm still waiting for that mythical big break."

"And you're filming in Cascade?"

"Not filming. I'm in a play here at the arts centre. _Othello_."

That made Blair feel really dense. He had seen posters advertising the play for weeks. Trying to regain his place in the conversation, he managed a grin. "I guess you're not playing the lead."

It earned him another laugh. "No, I'm Cassio. Do you like Shakespeare?"

"When I'm in the mood for it. Why are you doing it, though? Cascade Arts Centre isn't exactly Broadway."

Andrew's expression became serious. "In career terms it's a risk. The director is someone I wanted to work with... No, that's the bullshit version. I needed an excuse to come back to Cascade and bullied my agent until he found me a job here. Any job. I quit that soap opera to do it."

"Why?"

"Because of Carl. We were best friends as kids and stayed in touch. Then six months ago he went silent on me. Didn't write, didn't return any of my calls. It took me ages to find out why. Then I had to see him."

"I..."

"He told me you know everything, Blair. It's okay."

"Yeah, but I can't talk about it. Because the reason I know is I work with the cops, and the sonofabitch is still on trial. But I'm glad Carl has a friend around. He's been through hell."

"I noticed. Look, Blair, I really am busy tonight: it's our opening night. But would you like to come? I can get you a couple of tickets, and maybe I can see you after the performance. I think you'll enjoy Anna's interpretation of the play." He smiled, flirting. "If you're in the mood."

A couple of tickets, Andrew had said. But Jim and Shakespeare wouldn't mix well. Then Blair thought of Katie, who he'd met when her place in the witness protection program was exposed. They dated a few times, but like all his relationships with women, it hadn't lasted. Katie felt she was taking too much time away from her little girl, and they agreed to remain friends. Maybe she would appreciate a night out.

Blair smiled. "I'd love to come." He checked his watch, seeing with a shock it was almost two o'clock. "Oh, man, I'm gonna be late. I've got to go!"

*

The play was wonderful and Andrew was right: Blair enjoyed the interpretation very much. _Othello_ was often presented as a study of racism. This director had deliberately done the opposite: Othello was still cast as African-American, but the cast was deliberately multi-racial. Andrew as Cassio and the actress playing Desdemona were the only white faces. It brought Iago's motiveless malevolence into sharper focus, the tragedy of the play more acute for being inexplicable. Blair was almost sorry he hadn't invited Jim: he might have appreciated this.

When the curtain fell, Blair and Katie waited in the auditorium. She was checking her watch anxiously.

Blair touched her hand gently. "It's okay, there's plenty of time. I just can't leave until I've at least said hello to Andrew. He got us the tickets, after all."

"You never did tell me how you managed to meet him."

_ Because 'he picked me up at a gay bar' might not go down to well._ "We have a friend in common. There's not much to tell." Blair saw the curtain move and smiled in anticipation.

Andrew appeared on the stage, no longer in costume. He returned Blair's smile as he hurried over to them. "Blair, I'm glad you came. Did you enjoy the play?"

"It was great," Blair told him. _You were great_, he wanted to say...but not in front of Katie. He met Andrew's eyes and saw understanding. He looked away. His feelings for Andrew were becoming confusing. It was okay when he thought it was purely physical, but he really liked this man. That wasn't okay, for so many reasons. He saw Katie smiling expectantly and introduced her to Andrew.

He shook her hand, his smile welcoming. "Any friend of Blair..."

"You were great!" Katie gushed, all smiles. "I remember you as Nicky in General Hospital...why _did_ he turn into such a rat?"

Andrew laughed. "You'd have to ask the writers. I enjoyed being the bad guy."

"I wonder...would you sign..." she held up the souvenir program for the play.

"Of course." Andrew took the program from her. He looked at Blair. "We're having a party backstage - it's an opening night thing. You're both welcome to join us." He handed the program back to Katie with a smile.

Blair glanced at her, but he already knew they couldn't stay. "I'm sorry, Andrew, but I need to take Katie home. She has a little girl."

Andrew met Blair's eyes. "You could come back."

"I'd love to," Blair said, but still he hesitated. "Um. Katie, could you give us a moment?"

"Sure. I'll wait in the lobby." She smiled at Andrew again. "It was wonderful to meet you."

When they were alone, Andrew moved in and his arms slid around Blair's waist. "You're not going to join the party, are you?"

It was tempting. Andrew was close enough for Blair to smell the greasepaint. Blair shook his head. "I'm just not comfortable with it. I don't even know why." _Jim...that's why._

"You're too honest for me, Blair. Look, unless we get truly terrible reviews, I'm going to be busy for the next few days. Can I call you when I'm free? Maybe Wednesday."

"I'll look forward to it."


	10. Ten

They were laughing together as Andrew unlocked the door to his apartment. The door swung open and he motioned Blair inside. Blair, still smiling, had a moment to take in the details: a clean but comfortable space, warm colours, leather and polished wood... Andrew caught his shoulders, making Blair turn toward him. He slipped his hands underneath Blair's jacket and pushed it from his shoulders. The jacket fell to the ground as Blair moved into Andrew's arms and their mouths met at last.

There were no doubts in Blair's mind at that moment. His passion fuelled by six months of celibacy, Blair was eager for everything Andrew wanted. Andrew's leather coat joined Blair's jacket on the floor and they moved toward the couch, still kissing. Blair's hands deftly unbuttoned Andrew's shirt. They sat down together and Blair opened the shirt. He ran his hands over the firm muscles of his chest, fingernails scraping over dark brown nipples, drawing a hiss from Andrew.

Andrew lifted Blair's curls aside and buried his face in the curve of Blair's neck, breathing deeply. Blair felt teeth scrape his skin and gasped, though it didn't hurt, much. He was going to leave a mark... For an instant, Blair wanted to stop this, but the moment passed quickly. He stripped the shirt from Andrew's back, drinking in the sight of his even Californian tan and the outline of his abs. He heard himself sigh appreciatively.

Andrew's hand slid down the front of Blair's pants, cupping his erection. He lifted his head from Blair's neck. There was so much heat in his eyes. Not love, just raw lust. It drew Blair in, and he kissed him hard, letting Andrew push him back so they were lying on the couch, Andrew's body above him. Their hips ground together. Blair pulled away for air, taking a ragged breath.

Above him, Andrew met his eyes once more. "I wanted you the first moment I saw you on the dance floor." Hot fingers stroked the hair on Blair's chest. "Please tell me you're clean."

Clean. It was not an unreasonable question. But Blair hesitated, the associations crowding in on him. _Interviewing Carl at the hospital. Sifting through reports of sexual assaults. Waking on the floor of Douglas' office. Stumbling down the stairs, Jim's gun heavy in his hand. Finding Jim..._

Andrew touched Blair's cheek gently. "Blair?"

He wriggled out from beneath Andrew's body, ending up on the floor, leaning back against the couch, hugging himself tightly.

_His finger on the iron trigger...pointing the gun...shots deafening in the enclosed space...Jim, bleeding on the cellar floor..._ Jim. Oh, Jim. What was Blair doing?

"What's wrong?" Andrew's voice was puzzled. He leaned closer to Blair.

Blair swallowed, forcing himself to face Andrew. "I'm clean," he said. "I would have told you before now if I wasn't."

"But...?" The prompt was gentle.

"My...friend, Jim. He was exposed to HIV a few months ago. He hasn't been tested yet. Too soon."

Andrew sat up, zipping his pants. "That must be hard for you." He slid off the couch to sit beside Blair, an arm around his shoulders, comforting.

Blair nodded helplessly. "I'm sorry, man. I thought I wanted..."

Andrew sighed, the gesture overly-theatrical. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, too." He shifted back to the couch. "Hell, I don't like being the third man in a triangle, anyway."

Blair twisted around to face him. "It's not like that. Jim and I...we're just friends."

Andrew's look was sceptical. "And what were you before HIV was an issue?"

_ You've got me there, man._ "Friends," Blair insisted, but honesty compelled him to add, "maybe more...shit, I don't know." Third man in a triangle... Blair remembered Jim's jealousy of Andrew and, suddenly self-conscious he touched his neck. If Andrew had left a mark Jim was certain to see it. _I'd rather just be friends._ Bitter words, not meant. God, was he _trying_ to hurt Jim?

_ "Jim is very lucky," Megan's voice echoed in his head, "to have someone who loves him so much."_

Blair leaned back into the soft couch, letting his head fall back. He remembered the night he and Andrew met: Andrew embracing Carl on the dance floor before asking to dance with Blair. He held Carl like a lover, though his eyes had been for Blair alone. And suddenly something else became clear.

"Third man in a triangle?" Blair repeated. "You're a hypocrite, Andrew."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You gave up a starring role in that soap and flew to Cascade on a moment's notice."

"Carl and I have been friends since we were kids, Blair. It doesn't mean..."

"At Rocky's you looked very intimate. And that's a hell of a sacrifice to make for 'just a friend'."

"What are you saying, Blair? You think I love Carl?"

"I didn't realise it until just now, but...yeah. I think you do. Am I wrong?"

There was a long silence. Andrew pulled his shirt back on, taking longer than necessary over fastening the buttons. Finally, he looked at Blair. "I never knew, Blair. Carl was my best friend. If I'd known what he was doing for money...I'm not rich, but I'm not hurting, either. I could support him."

"You don't think less of him." It wasn't a question. Blair wasn't sure he would be so tolerant.

Andrew shrugged. "I wasn't always a star, babe. I've done my share of porn. Fucking on camera is safer than doing it in a back alley, but there's not much to choose between the two. The difference is I got a break."

Blair managed to smile. "_That_, I'd like to see."

"Friends, then?"

Blair groaned. "If one more man says that to me, I'm going to enter a monastery!"

*

Crouched behind the truck, Blair strained to hear what was going on inside the store. Jim's cell phone was pressed to his ear, but the woman on the other end was being painfully slow.

"Back off, man, or she's dead!"

The shouted words fuelled Blair's impatience. "Yes!" he snapped into the phone. "He has a hostage. Detective Ellison is in there trying to talk him down."

He heard Jim's voice again, and then the woman put him on hold. _Shit!_ He tightened his grip on the phone and peered over the hood of the truck. He could see the guy with the gun. He was still holding the woman hostage, dragging her toward the door. Where the fuck was Jim?

"I have three units responding to your call, sir. You should have backup momentarily."

"Great. Thanks." Blair pocketed the phone automatically, his eyes still fixed on the store. Everything happened too fast. Blair saw the gunman push his hostage away, and heard the shots. He had no idea who fired first. The plate glass window shattered as the gunman fell through it.

Unable to wait any longer, Blair ran into the store. Jim! Where the fuck was he? Blair checked on the gunman first, but he was down for the count. Then the hostage. She was clinging to a counter, shaking. In shock. "You okay?" he asked unnecessarily.

She nodded shakily. She wasn't hurt.

"Jim!" Blair called. There was no response and he started checking every aisle. "Jim!" He found Jim on the ground and for a moment his blood ran cold. Jim groaned, beginning to get up. He was wounded, blood clearly visible at his shoulder. Blair rushed to his side, remembering to stay away from the wound. "Jim, you okay?" He helped Jim to sit up, half expecting Jim to tell him to back off.

Jim allowed him to help. "Yeah, man." Pain creased his forehead.

Blair pulled the cell out of his pocket. "I'll call an ambulance."

The cops arrived first, which was a relief. By then Jim was on his feet, though he leaned heavily on Blair. It was a relief to let them take over: the woman who had been held hostage had to be calmed down, but Blair wasn't up to it. He had his hands full with Jim, who was trying too hard to look like there was no problem.

The paramedics didn't take long. Blair helped Jim to the back of the ambulance. Jim wouldn't let the paramedic near him until he had explained the possible HIV risk. The paramedic - a young woman - didn't hesitate. "Thank you for telling me, Detective, but you need to let me look at that wound." She reached for his jacket and began to draw it away from the wound.

Seeing Jim was in good hands, Blair pulled out the cell phone for a third time and called Simon. He told Simon what he could about the incident, but Simon's frustrated questions underlined what Blair already knew: something had gone seriously wrong in there and Blair didn't have a clue what it was. It wasn't like Jim to so completely lose control of a situation.

An hour later, at the hospital, they found out. Jim, cagey as always, admitted to them he had seen some kind of a vision at the store. He'd been focussed on the gunman, trying to talk him down, when he heard growling, a wild animal. It was real enough to distract him and when he opened the door to see where the sound was coming from he'd seen it: a spotted Jaguar. That was how he'd lost control of the situation. That was why he'd been injured.

"You mean like your animal spirit?" Blair questioned. This was significant. The last time Jim experienced a vision was on their holiday in the mountains, nearly six months ago.

But Jim shook his head slightly. "No. No, that was a black jaguar. This was spotted."

Blair frowned, thinking it through. "Uh...it could have been an adrenaline rush from being shot." No, Jim said the vision came first, so that didn't work. "Or maybe - "

"Sandburg," Simon interrupted.

Blair waved Simon off, focussed on Jim. "This is important, Simon. Jim's visions usually have a deeper meaning."

"Right now," Simon insisted firmly, "he's a man who needs rest. Come on - you can finish this tomorrow."

Jim looked gratefully at Simon; a look not lost on Blair. He turned away to cover the hurt. Jim wanted him gone. Okay. He was gone. "Take care," he muttered, walking out of the room ahead of Simon.

*

Emma Farnesse had told them they would have a verdict shortly. So Blair was waiting at the courthouse. Declan was there, too, and naturally he asked after Jim.

"He's okay. The hospital released him yesterday."

"Hospital?" Declan's eyes were wide with surprise and Blair realised he didn't know about the shooting.

Blair hurriedly explained. "...but he's not badly hurt. It's not like Jim to get distracted so easily but he's been...erratic lately. He's driving me nuts."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Aw, shit, man, it's not paradise. We're still friends, Declan, and we're partners - at work. But every time it matters he either yells at me or shuts me out. We had a huge fight over my thesis - did he tell you about that? He blows everything way out of proportion, man."

"Blair, the chances are everything _is_ out of proportion for Jim at the moment. He's due to take that HIV test soon. From what I know of Jim, he's preparing himself for the worst."

Blair knew that was true, but it was no less frustrating. "I promised Jim I'd be with him, whatever happens. But he's pushing me away!" As he spoke he was thinking of Andrew again. Whatever was happening between Andrew and Carl, HIV was a factor for them, too. He wanted to ask Declan what Carl's test result had been, but he knew Declan wouldn't tell him. He closed his eyes briefly, praying for them all.

"It's not that Jim expects you to abandon him, Blair," Declan said gently. "It's just deep down he thinks you _should_. You'll have to..." he broke off, patting Blair's hand. "He's here."

Blair saw Jim walking toward them. His arm was still in a sling, but that was hidden under his casual jacket. Megan was a couple of steps behind him. Blair was surprised to see her: having taken on Jim's caseload while he recovered from the incident at the store, she had to be too busy to spend time here at the courthouse.

Megan explained, "Actually, Sandy, I came to talk to you. About the Bensinger case I'm taking over for Jim."

Declan glanced at Blair. "Sandy?" he repeated quizzically.

Blair shrugged, embarrassed. "Uh...yeah...I've asked her not to call me that, man..."

Declan's grey eyes twinkled. "I like it. It suits you."

"Am I missing something?" Megan asked.

Blair felt trapped between them. He didn't mind the nickname, not really. But in front of Declan...that was all wrong. He pulled himself together. The damage was done now. "Um. Megan Connor, this is Dr Declan Malone."

They shook hands and Declan spoke first. "I'm pleased to meet you, Ms Connor. Sandy...that was my life partner's name. He died a few months ago. I think Blair's concerned for my feelings."

Her eyes slid to Blair. "He said he didn't like the name, but he never explained why." To both of them she added, "I'm sorry."

Declan's smile was a little sad. "You don't need to apologise. I meant what I said." He met Blair's eyes. "You know Sandy would have found it funny. Or flattering."

Blair nodded. It was true: Sandy would probably have grabbed the excuse to tease him endlessly. Blair shook off his mood, smiling for Megan. "What is it you wanted to know?"

The others, including Jim, headed into the courtroom. Blair hung back while he answered Megan's questions. Nothing she asked was very important. "This could have waited, Megan. Why are you really here?"

She hesitated, then offered what Blair guessed was the truth. "Jim was in the bullpen when you called, catching me up on the case. He seemed..." she was silent for a long moment "...I'm not sure. I didn't think he should be driving, so I used this as an excuse."

Blair nodded, frowning. Jim's senses were acting strangely, he knew that. Ever since the vision he saw just before he was shot. A jaguar. Blair wasn't sure what it all meant. The Jaguar Spirit stood for personal integrity, something Jim had in bucketloads. It could also be a bringer of retribution, punishing those who abused power. Which also fit Jim pretty well: that was his job. But if there was a message in the vision, Blair couldn't see it yet.

Absently, he muttered, "Thanks, Megan. I...um..." he gestured toward the courtroom door.

She nodded, understanding. "Let's go in."

*

Ellison found a seat in the public gallery. He half-expected Malone to sit with him, but he sat elsewhere. Ellison looked for him and saw Malone take a seat beside Carl Jeffries. The young man looked terrible: pale and troubled. Concentrating on him for a moment, Ellison heard his breathing, thick and halting, as if he had a cold. Maybe he did.

He was rarely in court for verdicts. On his own cases he rarely took the time. He wouldn't be here now, but everyone seemed to expect it. And Sandburg was here; he needed support. Ellison didn't need to be here. He didn't want to personalise this case...or not more than it already was. Whatever.

Ellison watched the jury file into the courtroom. He glanced toward Malone and saw Jeffries speak quietly to the counsellor. Ellison didn't try to hear the words, but Jeffries' tension came across clearly. Ellison could relate. He wasn't sure what he'd do himself if Douglas ended up back on the streets. Knowing what he knew, Ellison couldn't allow that to happen. It wouldn't happen.

"All rise," intoned the clerk, as the Judge Perrotti entered the court.

Sandburg slipped into the seat beside Ellison, muttering an apology.

Ellison's hands were resting on his thighs. He clenched a fist, listening to the familiar formalities.

"In the matter of the People vs. Richard Douglas..."

Beside him, Sandburg held his breath. Ellison wanted to reach across, hold his hand, maybe. Reassure him. But it was an uncrossable gulf now. His own fault, of course, _he_ pushed Blair away. He shouldn't resent that he'd found someone else. But, damn it, he _did_. Blair was _his_.

"...find the defendant not guilty, by reason of insanity."

Sandburg whispered an uncharacteristic obscenity. Ellison glanced at him. He knew this wasn't the verdict Sandburg wanted.

The judge thanked the jury. He leaned forward, then, looking at Douglas. "Mr Douglas, though there is no criminal finding against you, your actions and motives in this matter are not in doubt. I cannot ignore what you have done and based on the testimony given by yourself and expert witnesses in this court there is no question that you remain a significant danger to society."

Ellison relaxed. It was going to go the way it was supposed to.

Judge Perrotti went on, "It is the decision of this court that you will remain in a psychiatric facility until such time as a competent authority can determine you are no longer a threat to others, or to yourself."

Could Douglas buy his way out of that one? That was the last loophole. Could he get some shrink to set him free?

He saw Malone lean toward Jeffries and this time Ellison listened. Malone said quietly, "It's an effective life sentence, Carl. After what he's done, it will be at least five years before a psychiatrist will consider releasing him, no matter what. He doesn't have that long to live."

Ellison unclenched his fist, stretching his fingers out across the denim. The bad guy was off the streets of his city. It was enough for the cop in him. But not for the man. The man...Ellison wasn't sure what he wanted. Death seemed too easy.

A court bailiff approached to escort Douglas away. Douglas turned for the first time, his eyes searching the public benches for something or someone. For an instant his eyes locked with Ellison's. Ellison's stomach turned over. He was trapped, helpless in the dark, choking on the smell of cheap cologne and his own blood, trying to scream through the cloth stuffed in his mouth. He fought to keep his expression neutral.

The warmth of Sandburg's body edged closer to him and he felt a hand rest in the small of his back. The touch grounded him and he returned Douglas' look steadily. A sneer crossed the man's face as he turned away.

Ellison set his jaw resolutely. The memory could be banished now. It was over.

Almost.

*

"Jim, I'm ready for you now." Malone's Irish lilt was welcoming, but Ellison stood reluctantly, setting aside the magazine he had been pretending to read. He winced as his bandaged shoulder twinged and swallowed against the tightness in his throat, torn between wanting to get this over with and wanting to delay it forever. Ellison took a deep breath, dialling his senses back as much as he dared, then followed Malone into the office.

"Have a seat, Jim," Malone invited. He waited for Ellison to select a chair before sitting down himself. "How's the arm?"

"Flesh wound," Ellison answered. "I'll be back at work after the weekend." He ran a finger along the inside of his collar nervously. He heard the remembered growl of a jaguar and stiffened, the urge to look behind him almost irresistible. He thought of his own panther and the memory faded.

Malone's eyes were calm. "You're in control this time, Jim. If you want me to call the nurse in right away, I will."

"Can you..." His mouth dry, Ellison stumbled over the words. _Pull yourself together!_ "Can you tell me what happens now?" He already knew the answer. He was stalling and hated himself for doing it. _You're a fucking coward, Ellison._

Malone didn't call him on the stalling tactic. He just answered the question. "A nurse will take some blood. There are two tests. The first is called an ELISA test: it detects HIV antibodies in the blood. If the result is negative - no antibodies present - that's absolutely reliable. In your case we know the date of exposure so retesting won't be necessary. The ELISA has been known to give false positives. It's rare but it does happen. So if you get a positive result from the ELISA, the lab will run a second test using the same blood sample. That's called a Western Blot test, and it detects the presence of the virus itself. It's completely reliable. They'll only do the Western Blot after a positive ELISA result because it's so expensive, but your insurance has already signed off on it."

"How long before I get the result?"

"Five or seven days, depending on how busy the lab is. I recommend you make an appointment for this time next week, but I'll call you if the results come in sooner."

Ellison shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "What happens if the test is positive. If..."

"If you have HIV," Malone finished for him, his voice gentle. He was silent for a moment. "Jim, that's a question I prefer to address if and when it's necessary. I don't want you to worry about this..."

"I've been worried about it for six months!" Ellison snapped. The evasion was irritating, but he was grateful for the excuse to sound off. He needed to hit out at something right now. "I'm going to worry about this for the next week, no matter what you say. Declan, do you think I can just put it out of my mind? I need to know. I need to take control of this thing and I can't do that if I don't know what's coming."

"Control is important to you, isn't it?"

"Just tell me, doc. Without all the Freudian crap."

Declan nodded, trying to hide a smile. "Okay. No Freudian crap." He leaned forward a little, meeting and holding Ellison's eyes. "A positive result is never easy to deal with, but it's not the end of the world, either. It can feel like it... People have all sorts of reactions. There's no 'normal' response, no right or wrong."

"Just tell me what happens. The practical stuff."

"The human considerations come first, Jim. You would need to think about who you should inform: I assume your boss will need to know, as will Blair because you share an apartment. The hospital is legally obliged to trace the source of the infection - in your case that's something we already know, but if there's even a remote chance you could have infected someone else..."

"There isn't." Ellison was certain of that. "Do you think I'm that stupid?"

"No, Jim, I didn't think there would be anyone, but it has to be said."

"I haven't slept with anyone. The paramedic and the doctor who treated my shoulder were told before they touched me. I've been careful."

Malone nodded slowly. "I know." He took a breath, then went on. "You'll have decisions to make about treatment. A couple of years ago, a positive test for HIV was considered a death sentence. It takes about eight years for the virus to develop into full blown AIDS, but most people don't get tested until they're symptomatic. By then, life expectancy was just two to three years at most. The most we could do with medication was treat the symptoms. If you've researched the subject yourself, those are probably the facts you know."

They were. But Malone had spoken in the past tense. Ellison nodded. "I've done some reading," he answered carefully.

"Then what you need to know is that information is at least a year out of date. There have been some major advances in HIV treatment in the past year. We're beginning to understand exactly how the virus works. That eight year incubation period can be doubled or more with the new treatments and there are drugs being trialled now that they think can halt the virus in its tracks, so someone who is HIV positive might never develop full blown AIDS. It's too early to know for certain, but the top scientists in the field believe this is the breakthrough we've been waiting for."

"But it's not a cure."

"No, not yet. The new approach is a way to keep a patient's status at HIV-positive. Which means healthy and able to live a normal life. That's what I want you to focus on, Jim. This virus is slow, and new breakthroughs are happening. If you test positive, it doesn't mean you're dying."

He seemed so certain. Ellison felt something ease within himself. Maybe he could breathe again.

"How are you feeling, Jim?"

Silence. There was no short answer to that question and the long version...well, Ellison wasn't ready to share. He shook his head, letting that be his answer.

"Scared? You wouldn't be human if you didn't feel at least nervous about this."

"Then why ask?"

"It's my job to ask. Here's another tough question: Are you ready, Jim?"

"Not really." Ellison shook his head shakily. "As ready as I can be."

Less than fifteen minutes later, Ellison stood outside the hospital. The air of Cascade tasted no different. Had he expected it to?

_ You wouldn't be human if you didn't feel at least nervous..._

Yeah, he was scared. Shitless.

For all Malone's assurances, Ellison knew HIV would change his life. He couldn't keep his job; it would be far too dangerous to those who worked with him. He couldn't pass on HIV through casual contact but what about the next time he was shot? Or what if he had to help out at an accident scene? What if there was a fight? All three happened to him with depressing regularity. The risk was too great.

If he couldn't be a cop, what _was_ he? Ellison wasn't cut out to work a desk. It would drive him crazy.

On a personal level, too, there were issue. Several issues, but one huge one.

Blair Sandburg.

*

Blair was trying to write.

There was no police work for him to do, since Jim was on leave recovering from the gunshot wound. His office at Ranier was off-limits as the building was being fumigated. It was just typical for the maintenance department to get efficient the week he really needed the space. So, he'd been trying to work at home, drafting a paper.

When Jim got home, Blair was curled up on the couch, surrounded by papers with a notepad on his knee. "Hey, man," he said, engrossed in his work.

"Hey," Jim returned, already heading for the refrigerator. "Beer?"

"No thanks," Blair answered distractedly. A moment later his brain caught up with his mouth. He knew Jim had been to the hospital that afternoon. There wouldn't be any real news yet, but it had to be tough on Jim.

Jim opened a beer bottle and walked toward Blair, the bottle dangling from his fingers. "No date with your boyfriend tonight, Chief?" The words dripped acid.

"He's not my boyfriend," Blair answered, automatically defensive. _Shit, Jim, I know you've had a bad day but don't take it out on me!_

Jim sat down, casual, on the arm of the couch. "Hey, Chief, you came in the other day reeking of his aftershave..."

"I said he's not my boyfriend. Nothing happened, Jim. Not that it's any of your business."

"Whatever," Jim answered. He took a sip of beer, tension written in every movement.

Blair wanted to talk to him so badly, wanted to tell him why he wasn't seeing Andrew any longer. Tell Jim he loved him. But he had agreed not to mention the subject until they knew...as always Blair's mind shied away from forming the actual thought as if just thinking the words could curse them both. But the spectre was still there, just the same.

Blair picked up his pen and wrote a few more sentences. But the thought was in his head now. Jim's test was today. They would know in a week. The answer would free Blair from his months of silence, but he no longer knew what to say. Did he still want to be Jim's lover? Just being his friend was so fucking hard lately.

Blair had stopped writing. Unconsciously, he was tapping the pen on his notebook. He loved Jim. There was no difficulty admitting that. But could he be Jim's friend as well as an anthropologist conducting a study with Jim as the main subject? That was the question they fought over the night before the trial started. How much harder would it be if they were lovers? How much harder for Blair to maintain his objectivity? How much more would Jim be hurt by every misinterpreted word Blair wrote?

"Sandburg!"

Blair looked up, frowning at the harshness in Jim's voice. "What's up, man?"

"Will you cut that out! It's like horses racing through my head."

Blair stared at his pen, realising what he'd been doing. "Sorry, man." He looked back over the last few sentences he'd written. They made no sense at all. He tore the sheet off and crumpled it up.

"Sandburg!"

"What?!!"

"I _said_ cut it out!"

It was a waste of time arguing. Next Jim would tell him off for breathing too loud. Exasperated, Blair gathered up his notes, grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

*

_...exceeded all of my expectations. Though Burton's monograph only hinted at the possibility... _

Blair glanced up from his notes as a woman's raised voice caught his attention.

"There are no drugs or alcohol in me, Inspector." The woman was slouching in a chair beside Megan's desk.  

"But cars don't demolish themselves on their own whim, do they?" Megan answered, her tone patronising.

Blair shook his head. It was a familiar scene at the police department. Unable to work at Ranier, or at home, he ended up here, working at Jim's desk. It was, oddly enough, quite helpful; the familiar surroundings held Jim's presence, helping him to concentrate on his work.

"You're here kind of late," Brown commented.

Blair nodded. "They're fumigating my building at the university. And I can't work there and I can't work at home, because Jim's just driving me crazy. I swear, it's like living with an evil stepfather. 'Turn down that music! Get your feet off the couch!' It's driving me crazy." He heard the woman sigh heavily and glanced over there again. She didn't look like a drug user. "Hey, Brown, d'you know what's going on over there?"

He did. "Connor was on her way in. Girl was sitting on a curb, car wrapped around a telephone pole. The girl was yelling and screaming that the lights were killing her eyes and then she started bugging out about how the noise was getting to her."

"Really?" Blair said. He looked more closely at the woman. Light and noise...reacting as if both were too strong, as if her senses were overloading. It wasn't possible...was it?  

"Yeah, it was crazy."

Possible. _I've got hundreds of cases of people with one or two hyperactive senses..._ He shouldn't jump to conclusions. It was probably drugs, like Megan thought. Still, it wouldn't hurt to find out, would it? Blair looked up at Brown. "Tell you what, I'll bring that over to Megan."

Brown handed him the folder willingly.

"An oncoming car flashes its lights so you can't see," Megan was saying. "That, I can buy. But why start to disrobe in the middle of the highway?"

The woman frowned, as if she wasn't sure why. Her tone a little less confrontational, she said, "I...my skin...hurt. The clothes felt like sandpaper all of a sudden. I don't know."

_ That's three_, Blair noted as he reached them. "Megan, here's that blood test you wanted." He hesitated for a moment, wanting to say more. If he spoke up in front of Megan, she would have questions. Too many questions. She was already suspicious about Jim. He backed off, waiting near the door where he could hear them both.

"Thanks, Sandy," Megan answered absently. She looked at the report. "Oh. Negative."

"Negative," the woman repeated with satisfaction.  "May I leave now?"

Megan handed her a release. "Please sign here. Collect your belongings at the booking desk downstairs. And...see a doctor."

The woman dragged herself up from the chair and headed out without another word.

Blair hurried after her. "Excuse me, miss?" She turned to him, blue eyes flashing with anger. He raised his hands in an _I'm friendly_ gesture and smiled. "Hi. My name's Blair Sandburg and I'm a consultant to the police department. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the light hurting your eyes and about your clothes making your skin ache."

"Read the report," she snapped, turning away again.

He put himself in her way. "Do colours seem more vivid? Do smells seem more powerful?" _Say yes. Please say yes._

She sighed. "Look, I've already been to three different doctors. None of them could tell me what's wrong."

"That's no surprise." Doctors hadn't helped Jim, either. Blair went on eagerly, "Look, have you recently experienced any prolonged traumatic isolation?"

Her eyes widened. "Who the hell are you?"

Blair was certain, now. He took a breath, reaching into a pocket for a card. "I'm an anthropologist. And I think I know what's happening to you. If you could just meet me at the university here. We could talk further."

Another Sentinel. This changed everything.

Blair watched the woman go. She would contact him. She _had_ to.

It had taken Blair too long to realise what was wrong between Jim and himself. Now he was beginning to understand. Jim needed order in his life; now more than ever. His relationship with Blair was strained because - to Jim, at least - it didn't fit into his ordered existence. They couldn't be partners and friends and lovers _and_ researcher and subject all at once. Blair always knew it was difficult for Jim; it wasn't until their fight over his thesis that he began to realise the strain was too much for him, too.

As a researcher he was supposed to be objective. As Jim's partner at work, he had to be professional and - as far as possible - detached. Neither of those things was compatible with being Jim's friend, and Blair still hoped that, in a few days when the uncertainty was over, he could be more than a friend to Jim. How was he supposed to write a thesis about Jim then?

The answer was he couldn't. Jim had made that clear. Going over the argument again and again in his head, Blair was afraid Jim would make him choose between his thesis and their friendship. Later, Jim's jealousy over Blair's brief relationship with Andrew showed Blair that there _was_ hope Jim still wanted him in that way. But the obstacles still seemed insurmountable.

Jim as his lover. Jim as his partner. Jim as the subject of his academic study. Blair understood, now, he couldn't have all three.

Maybe, if this woman _was_ a Sentinel, Blair wouldn't have to choose.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In writing this chapter I have assumed the reader is familiar with the events of Sentinel Too (1 &amp; 2). This instalment retells some of those events; however I have not covered the entire episode - if I haven't included it here, assume it happened as in canon.

#### A Week Later, Cascade General Hospital

How do you explain behaviour you don't fully understand yourself? How do you apologise for the unforgivable?

Ellison sank into a chair in the hospital corridor and buried his head in his hands. Sandburg almost died. No, strike that. Sandburg _did_ die. There was no doubt in Ellison's mind. He had felt no breath, heard no heartbeat. The skin beneath his hands had been cold. Yet somehow Sandburg had come back.

What was even stranger, Ellison knew _he_ had brought him back.

His Sentinel gift he could accept. It was as natural a part of him as his blue eyes. His occasional visions were harder to deal with, but he had lived for eighteen months with people to whom visions and spirits were more "normal" than a Big Mac and Coke. Ellison had learned to accept that, too, as part of him. But raising the dead? That was so far beyond anything he could call normal or natural, he didn't dare accept it.

Better to focus on the future.

In the ambulance on the way here, Sandburg stopped breathing again. That time, Ellison had stayed out of the way, letting the paramedics do their job. He watched, and waited. Another thing he wasn't much good at. Now he was waiting again, waiting for a doctor to tell him Sandburg was okay. He _would_ be okay. He had to be.

And Ellison was going to find some way to make up for the past week...and the past six months.

Ellison took a deep breath, raising his head as the doctor emerged from the room.

"Mr Ellison?"

"Yes." He stood quickly. "Is he okay?"

The doctor nodded. "Your friend is very lucky," he answered. "He'll need a couple of days bed rest, but I think he'll make a full recovery."

Ellison breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you." He glanced at the door. "Can I see him?"

"You can go in as soon as the nurse is done, but don't stay too long. He needs rest."

"I understand. Thank you, doc." He hesitated before heading into the room. How do you apologise...

Sandburg looked pale and weak. Tubes and wires ran from his body to various machines. A nurse was doing something to an IV in his arm. Ellison watched from the doorway for a moment. "You know, Chief, if you want to meet nurses, there are easier ways."

He was rewarded with a faint smile. "Oh...that's right," Sandburg answered. He sounded more or less normal.

Ellison walked into the room. "You doing all right?" he asked seriously.

Sandburg nodded. "Yeah...I'm all right."

*

Ellison's sleep was restless that night. Perhaps it was the stress of so many things in his life coming to a head. Perhaps it was because Sandburg wasn't there, in his room.

He remembered his visions of the wolf, seeing himself hunt the animal, then the shocking realisation it was Blair he had hurt. It was a warning, wasn't it? A warning he hadn't understood...worse, hadn't _tried_ to understand. Blair almost died because of it.

Could he learn to trust his visions?

In bed that night, dreams of the jaguar haunted him.

_A spotted jaguar attacked a wolf, tearing out the wolf's throat with its powerful jaws. Blood spilled over the jungle floor. The wolf fell, its lifeless body becoming human. Becoming Blair. _

_No!_

Jim screamed silently, struggling to wake.

_He was standing in Alex Barnes' burned-out apartment. He looked down and saw a carved wooden wolf at his feet. He crouched down to pick it up. The carving came to life in his hands. The wolf's wooden mouth opened, teeth cutting into his hand. Jim's blood flowed, staining the wolf. _

_And the apartment where he stood was clean again. There was no sound; for a moment Ellison thought he was deaf, then he realised his other senses were gone. He had only sight. He was a ghost in this clean room, unseen by Alex as she opened the door and walked in. There was a man waiting for her. They argued; about what, Ellison had no way to tell. Then he saw her kissing the man. Thoroughly. _

_His senses flooded back, disorienting him. He was standing on a beach, and though he had never been there before he knew exactly where it was: Sierra Verde. Alex was running toward him. Ellison heard a snarl build in his throat and knew he was the jaguar. He had become his animal spirit. His jaguar-mind didn't see Alex as human. She wore a bikini, but the way he looked at her wasn't sexual. He saw her as prey. He saw the pulse beating at her throat and wanted to bite into it, tear flesh and feel her blood spill hotly on his tongue..._

_Ellison recoiled from the alien thoughts. He did the only thing he could to keep himself human, and real, and sane. He turned the jaguar's bloodlust into his own, all-too-human lust. As she reached him he turned to her with passion instead of that raw hunger. _

He woke up sweating, with no idea whether his sweat was from fear or...

*

"You got all this from a vision?"

"Yeah." Ellison shrugged helplessly, knowing that if their positions were reversed he would be just as sceptical. "I got a clear mental image of her talking to _him_," He tapped the artist's sketch he was holding, "and then I saw a beach."

"A beach...in Sierra Verde?"

"I know it sounds...odd. But Alex and I are both sentinels." Simon raised a sceptical eyebrow and Ellison met his eyes. "I know, I know. But somehow we're connected. I don't know. I don't _understand_ it, but..." He broke off as his cellphone rang and glanced at the caller display. "Sorry, Simon, I have to take this." He turned away from Simon for the illusion of privacy, and answered the call. "Ellison."

"Hello, Jim, it's Declan."

"What can I do for you?" Ellison asked, mostly for his Captain's benefit. He already knew the answer: there was only one reason for Declan to call him.

Sure enough, the response came: "I thought you'd like to know your test result is back."

"Tell me," Ellison said tensely.

"Not over the phone. I won't even look myself until you're here. Are you still on leave from work?"

Ellison glanced at Banks. "No, I'm back at work, but I'm heading to the hospital very soon. Sandburg was...hurt."

"Is he okay?"

"He will be. When can I see you, doc?"

A pause. "Well, if you're on your way here...no, I have a patient waiting. Just a moment..." There was a brief pause and Ellison heard pages turning. "I have an opening at twelve. How's that?"

"Twelve is great. I'll be there. Thanks."

Banks was frowning. "Tell me you didn't just..."

Ellison interrupted him quickly. "Simon, that was Doctor Malone. He's got the results of my...blood tests." He deliberately didn't say _AIDS test_ but they both knew what he meant.

The frown deepened, but Banks nodded. "I heard you say twelve - that's when you'll know?"

"Yep." Ellison nodded, the curt answer concealing the butterflies filling his stomach.

"Jim, there's only one flight to Sierra Verde and it leaves at twelve-forty-five. We'll be cutting it very fine. Maybe I should take someone else..."

"No, sir. Alex is a Sentinel; you're going to need me." He sighed. There was no way he could break that appointment. "Look, I'll head home and pack, then drop by the hospital and let Sandburg know where we're going and why. I'll meet you at the airport. I might have to cut it close but I won't be late, I promise."

"Jim, are you sure you're going to be up to it?"

The unspoken part of the question: _...if you tested positive_ hung in the air. Banks didn't expect Ellison to be fit for work. _That's how it starts, I guess..._ If Ellison couldn't count on even_ Simon_ to give him a chance, what hope did he have of retaining anything like a normal life?

He pocketed the cellphone. "I'll be up to it," he answered curtly, and stalked out of the office.

*

Keeping a cheerful mask in place when he visited Sandburg was the hardest thing Ellison had ever done. He couldn't tell him about the test result because he knew that if he were to have any chance at all of catching that flight, he would have to drive to the airport as soon as he'd seen Declan. He would have no opportunity to tell Sandburg the result before he left. Nothing else could have made him leave so quickly, but he _needed_ to find Alex Barnes and trusted no one else to do it. She had tried to kill Sandburg, and she'd run off with two canisters of VX nerve gas. Ellison was a Sentinel first and a cop second: he had no choice but to be on that plane.

Especially as it might well be his last case.

Malone's smile was warm. "Come in, Jim. How's Blair?"

"He's recovering." Ellison took a seat. His mouth was dry.

After six months of waiting for this, Ellison knew the odds were against him. He wasn't getting tested because a condom broke. He was here because someone deliberately tried to infect him with HIV. Ellison knew he'd been bleeding badly and knew that increased his risk.

He thought he was ready to hear the worst.

"Can we cut to it, Declan?"

"Of course," Malone agreed. He reached for a file; Ellison saw his name on the cover tab. He swallowed past his dry throat. It seemed to take forever for Malone to open the folder, withdraw an envelope and open it.

Malone's grey eyes met his. Even with his enhanced senses, Ellison couldn't read him, couldn't anticipate the answer. He had to wait for Malone to speak. But he didn't need the words. Malone's tone of voice gave it away.

"Your test was negative, Jim. You're clear."

The tight knot of tension inside Ellison released. Something flooded through him and his breath caught in his throat. "Oh, god..." He had been so sure it would be positive. "Thank you," he whispered, unable to speak louder. "God, thank you."

"How do you feel?"

"I...uh...happy. Of course."

Malone shook his head. "Jim, you've been living with this for a long time. It's normal for it to take a while to sink in."

How did Malone read Ellison so exactly? "Yeah, thanks," Ellison grunted. He looked up at the ceiling. "I think it's just hard to believe. I'm really okay?"

Malone slid the lab report across the desk. "You're really okay. With most people I recommend a retest in another three months just to be certain, but that's not necessary for you. This is conclusive."

Ellison looked down at the sheet. There in black and white. _Negative for HIV_. "I'm sorry...I just didn't let myself think past today, and now..."

Malone smiled gently. "Time to start living again?"

_Living...with Blair?_ Ellison thought about that. It was the hope that kept him going while he struggled to recover from the rape. Sandburg's friendship and support were a lifeline.

But Sandburg found someone else.

Maybe whatever he had going with Andrew Hamilton hadn't worked out, but the message was clear enough: Sandburg wanted to move on. Oddly, Ellison wasn't bothered by Sandburg's occasional dates with women; maybe because he was used to that and knew they never lasted for long. But to see Sandburg with another _man_ \- that was different. It meant Sandburg was no longer waiting for Ellison.

And why _would_ he wait? Ellison knew they had grown apart and he knew it was mostly his fault. He just couldn't bear seeing him every day, working side by side with him, laughing with him...and not being able to love him. It made him snap when he knew he shouldn't made him turn away when he wanted to hold his friend close. Ellison couldn't blame Sandburg for moving on.

So all he said when he looked back to Malone was, "Whatever that means."

*

#### Next Day

The grass was still damp from the recent rain, water soaking into Blair's sneakers as he walked across the cemetery. He carried a bunch of flowers in his hand, but when he saw the grave, his flowers seemed redundant. Sandy's grave was covered with a veritable garden. Blair laid his flowers in one of the few bare spots. He saw a large bunch of carnations, all the colours of the rainbow, mixed with baby's breath. They had to be from Declan.

Declan didn't bring flowers to Blair's hospital room, but Blair hadn't expected it. He wouldn't know what to do with flowers anyway. What Declan had brought - however inadvertently - was news that shook the foundations of Blair's world.

It wasn't Declan's fault. He assumed Blair would know that Jim's test result was back. As soon as he realised Jim hadn't told Blair, Declan clammed up. It left Blair utterly frustrated.

More than that, it left him doubting Jim. _Why_ would Jim have left without telling Blair the result? After everything they had been through together, everything they promised each other, after Blair almost _died_...why would Jim run out on him like this?

Did it mean the test was positive?

It was the one thing Blair feared more than anything else: that a positive result would make Jim decide to cut Blair out of his life altogether. No discussion, no consideration for Blair's feelings...it would be like Jim to do that.

It was, after all, what he'd done to Blair six months earlier.

Six months. That was how long it took for Blair's life to fall apart.

Six months ago Blair had been on top of the world. Crazy in love with Jim. Loving Jim was never going to be easy but it was what Blair wanted to do. For the rest of his life.

But that was six months ago and Jim didn't want him any more. Blair's life was packed in twelve boxes, piled up in his office because he had nowhere else to go on short notice. Oh, there were friends who would put him up for the night and he could find a new place soon enough, but that only took care of the practical stuff.

It didn't fill the gaping hole inside where Jim was supposed to fit.

"I really fucked up this time, Sandy. Everything is fucked up."

_It takes two to fuck up a relationship, Teach. Who kicked who out?_

Blair sighed. He knew Sandy's voice in his head was only his imagination, but it was a comforting daydream. He sat down on the damp grass, closing his eyes. He could imagine Sandy sitting right beside him. "I wish you were really here, Sandy. I could use your company right now."

_The last six months of my life, I wasn't great company._

"You were always good company, Sandy."

_Maybe part of you wanted to fuck it up. The AIDS thing saved you from having to make a commitment."_

"No! Well...maybe. Not the way you think." It wasn't AIDS that frightened Blair. It was how Jim might react to it. It was Blair's own lack of confidence that he was up to the challenge. He wasn't a saint like Declan.

He heard Sandy's laughter in his head. _Saint! That's a good one, Teach. You should try living with him._

"He's not my type." Jim was Blair's type. Jim was...the only one he wanted.

_Teach, you've got to trust me. Give Jim a chance._

"That's just the problem, Sandy. He won't let me."

_He will. In time. Listen to me. Jim is going to remember that he loves you, and when he does, you've got to be there for him._

"Remember? Do you mean he forgot?"

But the sense of Sandy's presence was gone. It was only his imagination, but even that failed him.

Blair hauled himself to his feet. He turned to walk away from the grave and saw a car parked next to his own. A car he recognised.

It was almost enough to make him smile. He quickened his pace walking back past the other graves to the car. He waved when he got close.

"Megan! What are you doing here?"

In answer, she handed him an envelope. Blair opened it and glanced at the contents.

"I found out where Jim and Simon went," Megan told him. "I thought, since you've been in hospital, you could do with a vacation."

Blair looked at the plane tickets in his hand. "You know, I hear South America is lovely this time of year..."

*

#### Sierra Verde, Evening

Blair looked around nervously as they reached the hotel room. "I can't believe Arguillo came after you with a _tank_, man! Talk about overkill! Makes me wonder what else they might have done."

That was why Arguillo did it, Ellison reflected. To make them afraid of what he would do next. He scanned the hotel room, all of his senses on alert. "I can't see or smell anything out of place."

Sandburg. Sandburg was out of place. He was supposed to be resting in hospital, safe. Not here in Sierra Verde. Ellison should have known Sandburg would find a way to come. He'd been an idiot to tell him where they were going.

Sandburg looked _good_. He wasn't too happy, but then they had just barely escaped an attempt on their lives. Even so, there was no sign that he'd almost died less than forty eight hours earlier. He seemed back to normal.

It had been an insane week. Abruptly, Ellison realised that this was the first time he'd been alone with Sandburg since the hospital. There was something very important he had to say. Ellison moved toward Blair, unable to wait another moment to tell him everything. Alex, psychotic drug barons, nothing mattered. Not for right now. Not when he was alone with Sandburg.

Sandburg had pulled his bag out from beneath the bed and was tossing in clothing. He didn't seem to notice Ellison's movement or his agitation. "That's a relief. I don't know what I'd - "

"Chief. Shut up for a moment."

Sandburg turned around. The colour drained from his face as Ellison watched. "You hear something, Jim?"

"No." Ellison reached out, placing his hands on each side of Sandburg's face. "Now we're alone, there's something I need to tell you."

A frown creased Sandburg's forehead. "Okay."

Ellison sat down on the bed, gesturing for Sandburg to do the same. "I wanted to tell you before Simon and I left Cascade, but there wasn't time. It's not that chasing Alex was more important, just more urgent. I couldn't do this by phone."

"Do what, Jim?"

"My HIV test result came back, Chief. I'm - "

Sandburg's fingers covered his lips suddenly. "Stop, Jim. Let me say something first."

Ellison nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Jim, I know we've got some...issues to work out. I don't need to hear your result to know how I feel about you. I love you, man. I want to be with you. No matter what." Sandburg's blue eyes were sincere.

Ellison took Sandburg's face in his hands again and kissed him. He tried to make the kiss brief but Blair's lips parted beneath his, drawing Ellison's tongue into his mouth. Blair's unique taste filled him and Ellison had to fight to keep a rein on his senses. His long-repressed need could not be held back. Ellison crushed Blair against his body, dragging them both down onto the bed. Blair's hands tightened on his shoulders. He moaned into Ellison's mouth, the vibration thrilling along Ellison's nerves.

Ellison was painfully aroused, unconsciously thrusting against Blair's body. Then Blair's knee filled his groin, pushing against his balls and Ellison heard a sound escape him. Lust, need, possession. He pulled back, fighting for control. Sandburg's heartbeat was loud in his ears, drowning the rush of his own blood. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment and concentrated, dialling his hearing down to something like normal.

"Jim?"

He opened his eyes. "Just a little spike," he explained. He rolled over onto his back. "You didn't even ask," he realised.

Sandburg leaned over him. "I'm asking now."

"I'm okay, Chief. The test was negative."

"Really? Jim, that's great!"

Suddenly Sandburg was on top of him, straddling his body and kissing him. Laughter bubbled up and Ellison found he was laughing too as he responded to the kiss. He worked his hand beneath Sandburg's t-shirt and the sensation of his hot skin under his palm was almost his undoing. He began to lift the t-shirt up above Sandburg's head.

The door burst open with a crash and as Ellison groped automatically for his gun, he looked up and saw Simon standing there, staring. Simon's gun was in his hand. Megan stood two paces behind him. She put up her gun as Ellison watched them.

He could only imagine how the scene must look to Simon. There was no way to pretend innocence: Sandburg was straddling his body, Ellison in the process of stripping the t-shirt off him. And Simon had no idea Ellison was anything but 100% heterosexual. This was not the way Ellison would have chosen to come out to his friend.

Ellison pulled Sandburg's shirt back down, trying to make the movement look natural. He looked up at Simon. "Most people knock," he said, proud of the way his voice stayed casual.

It seemed to jerk Sandburg out of his shock, because he scrambled off Ellison's lap quickly. He smiled nervously. "Simon. We were just....um..."

"We're running for our lives and _you_ stop to make out," Simon shook his head, holstering his gun. "Can we _please_ all get out of the line of fire. Today. If that's all right with you, Ellison?" He hit just the right exasperated tone, making Ellison grin back at him as he sat up.

"Sure, Simon, anything you say."

*

As darkness fell, Simon stood in the shadowed doorway of the church. He had been there for almost an hour; originally he told them he wanted a smoke, but the cigar was long gone and Simon's position - carefully in the shadows where he couldn't be seen from the road - told Ellison the cigar was just an excuse.

Ellison moved silently to Simon's side. It was a relief to be outside; the church was a sanctuary and he was grateful for it but the incense and old wax clinging to everything was enough to choke his enhanced sense of smell.

"You don't need to keep watch, Simon I'll hear them long before you see anything."

He saw Simon shrug in the darkness. "I know you will, but you need sleep, too."

Ellison nodded. His senses wouldn't turn off while he was sleeping; it didn't work that way. Even in sleep, as tense as Ellison was if there were danger he would sense it. He didn't explain this to Simon; no need to make him feel redundant. Instead he leaned back against the wall, checked quickly that the others were not in hearing range, and said, "Simon, about what happened at the hotel..."

Simon reached into his jacket for another cigar, but seemed to think better of it. "I'm kicking myself for not catching on sooner," he admitted.

"It's not exactly what you think, Simon."

Simon turned away. It was a subtle movement in darkness; anyone but Jim would have missed it. "Jim, if you think you need to lie to me..."

"I don't," Ellison answered firmly. "I'm not."

"What I saw in that hotel room didn't leave much room for - "

"Will you stop! I'm trying to tell you but you're not helping."

"Go ahead."

Using as few words as possible, Ellison explained what happened between him and Sandburg and how Douglas had screwed things up for both of them. "...So you see, there was nothing to tell. Truthfully, I'm not sure there will be. After everything that happened in the past few weeks..." Jim sighed, wondering if Blair would ever trust him again, or he, Blair. Forgiveness was one thing; having come so close to losing Blair Jim was ready to forgive anything. But it wasn't so easy to forget betrayal of trust. "...We've got a lot to work out," he concluded lamely.

Simon looked grim. "That explains a lot. Thanks for filling me in, Jim. But you know not everyone is going to be thrilled for you, don't you?"

Jim was glad Simon couldn't see his face. "I'll be very surprised if 'thrilled' is the right word for how _you_ feel."

"I'm not going to lie to you. It'll take some getting used to. But you and Sandburg were always more than friends, so I will get used to it. Some of the men you work with won't."

"I'll do my best to make sure it doesn't affect work."

"I know you will." Simon turned to face him. "You're sure you'll be able to hear anyone coming?"

"Yeah. Now Sandburg's here I can risk keeping my senses open. If anything goes wrong he can back me up."

"Dream team. In that case, I'm going to get some sleep."

Ellison smiled to himself as Simon headed back into the church. He waited there a little longer, making the most of the brief solitude.

Alex Barnes was out there somewhere.

Ellison was going to find her.

*

Megan was sleeping on the floor, a towel from her hastily-packed bag rolled up as a pillow. Simon lay on a pew. They were both sleeping, as far as Blair could tell.

Jim would know if they were awake but right in that moment Jim was busy kissing Blair. His lips nibbled along Blair's unshaven jaw to his ear, where he licked the shell of Blair's ear as if it were the most wonderful taste he had ever experienced.

Blair sighed, leaning into Jim's touch. He wanted nothing more than to drag Jim down to the floor and...but _that_ would probably shock the priest who so kindly allowed them to sleep here.

Jim pulled back suddenly.

"You hear something, Jim?"

"I'm not sure," Jim whispered back. "Maybe..."

Blair took the hint and kept quiet.

After a tense moment, Jim whispered, "No, it's nothing. Just a car passing."

"You're jumpy," Blair observed.

"Back in Cascade there are limits to what can happen. Arguillo came after us in a tank to send us a message, Chief. He's telling us we're not in civilisation any more. He can do anything he likes, and he doesn't care how much collateral damage there is as long as he gets what he wants."

"And what he wants is us, dead."

"No, he wants two canisters of VX nerve gas. We're just what's standing in the way. So, yeah, I'm jumpy. Better that than whatever Arguillo will come up with next."

Blair shivered. Jim's mention of the stolen gas led naturally to thoughts of the person who stole it. Blair understood that the gas was Jim's priority - as it should be - but Alex Barnes was dangerous.

"And...Alex?" Blair asked tentatively.

"Alex," Jim repeated, shaking his head. "Chief, I don't know. She's..."

"A sentinel," Blair supplied. It was beginning to come together for him: Jim's visions of the jaguar and his hostility toward Blair; Alex's artwork, her presence in Cascade and her need to challenge Jim. There was a lot going on between them beneath the surface.

_She killed me_, Blair shouted silently, willing Jim to remember it. Remember that he'd trusted her. Remember that he'd tried to help her and she repaid him with death. He could still feel the brackish water filling his throat and lungs, he still tasted it.

"It's more than that." Jim's confession confirmed Blair's unspoken fears.

Jim rubbed his face tiredly. "These visions...and she tried to _kill_ you, and Megan and me. I shouldn't have any doubts about this but..."

"But you do?" When Jim didn't answer, Blair pressed, "Jim, what are you feeling about her?"

In answer, Jim turned his head to plant a kiss gently on Blair's temple. "I'm...drawn to her. But I'm not sure why or how. I just know we have to find her." He rested his head against Blair's curls.

Blair pulled away. "You're tired, man. We should get some sleep."


	12. Twelve

Perhaps it was their late-night conversation, but Blair dreamed about Alex that night. He was in her studio looking at her amazing artwork. A stylised eye above a temple blinked at him and began to bleed, thick red blood like tears. Blair turned away in revulsion. A painted jaguar came to life and leapt at his throat.

Blair woke and clapped a hand over his own mouth to stifle a scream. He looked around for the others. Megan and Simon still slept. Jim was missing.

Blair thought about waking the others but with the urgency of the dream still on him he dismissed the idea quickly. He scrambled up and headed out of the church.

There was no sign of Jim outside and Blair had no idea where to look. Frustrated he turned around to go back inside and caught a glimpse of the ocean. He remembered Jim talking about his visions of Alex. He had seen her on a beach. It was worth a try.

All the way to the beach, Blair was telling himself he was being foolish. Jim probably woke early and went for a run; he had been restless last night and it would be like him to try running the exercise away. The big guy was a serious exercise addict.

But Jim left them all sleeping, without telling anyone, knowing they were in mortal danger. As hard as he tried to convince himself, Blair knew something was wrong. Jim himself admitted he hadn't exactly been in control of himself lately.

Or was that just an excuse for shitty behaviour?

Kicking Blair out of the loft... Blair stopped the thought before it was fully formed. It was behind them now.

He climbed the dunes, his feet sinking into the hot sand, and finally he looked down on the beach. He smiled to himself, proud of his intuition. Jim was here.

But Jim was not alone.

Alex!

At first Blair thought they were fighting. He saw Alex grip Jim's shirt and push it from Jim's shoulders. It was when Jim raised his hands to her arms Blair realised he was wrong.

_Panic as brackish water filled his mouth and nose. He tasted dirt on his tongue. A desperate struggle not to draw breath, because he knew there was no air, then as his lungs betrayed him an even more desperate struggle for air, anything, dancing stars before his eyes going grey...and then the weird blue of the night jungle and he was a wolf not a man._

What the FUCK?!!

All the resentment Blair had tried to banish came flooding back in a scarlet wash of rage. If Jim could do this - if he could screw around with Alex after everything that she'd done - then he didn't love Blair. Not as a friend, not as anything.

In that moment, Blair knew it was over.

*

Ellison watched Alex run away from him. His vision was muddled, as if three different images were overlayed like a badly exposed film. The first was Alex herself, bikini-clad, her feet leaving a trail of footprints in the soft sand. The second was a spotted jaguar running away from him through trees. The jaguar was injured, leaving a trail of blood on the leaves and grass. But it was the third image that froze Ellison, though the cold steel of the gun was firm in his hand, his finger pressed on the trigger. He knew his aim was good, but he couldn't fire. He couldn't fire because a figure stood between him and Alex, the figure of a man. Blue eyes met his accusingly.

Ellison heard a voice calling his name and turned to see Sandburg running toward him.

Grey swirled into his vision as he realised _this_ was real. The hot sand beneath his feet and the salt taste of the air were real. Which meant the look of horror and betrayal in Sandburg's blue eyes was also real. Sandburg had seen everything.

The gun fell from his hand. Ellison barely noticed.

He took a step toward Sandburg, reaching out toward him.

Sandburg stayed out of reach. "I'd ask what the fuck you're thinking but I don't think I want to know."

"Chief, it's not..."

"Save it, Jim."

Ellison grabbed him by both arms, forcing Sandburg to look at him. "Listen to me! I don't know what just happened. Until you showed up I thought I was still dreaming."

Sandburg's ice were like ice. "Let go of me, Jim." Without waiting for Ellison to obey he wrenched away.

Ellison dropped his hands. "I need you, Chief. What's happening to me? I couldn't use the gun. It was all I could do just to point it at her."

Sandburg let out his breath in an exasperated sigh. He began to turn away.

Ellison, crushed, started to bend down to retrieve his gun. His vision exploded with stars as Sandburg's fist met his jaw. Because he was already off-balance, the punch sent him sprawling. Hot sand burned his skin. Ellison looked up at Sandburg, then slowly raised a hand to touch his jaw.

"I guess I deserved that," he admitted.

Sandburg gazed down at him and for a moment Ellison thought they were going to fight, really fight. Then the anger in Sandburg's face vanished, replaced by a look Ellison couldn't quite read.

"You kissed her in your vision, and you just recreated that in reality." Sandburg's voice was thoughtful.

Ellison got to his feet. "Yeah," he agreed warily.

"You told me you saw a temple in your vision. Alex mentioned having similar dreams. Jim, there's a legend about something called the Temple of Light where sentinels go to receive spiritual guidance. There's supposed to be a grotto with magical waters where those who bathe in it would see the Eye of God. Whatever that means."

Ellison frowned, going with it. "Is that what I've been seeing? It's always with Alex. She's always in my dreams." He raised his hands to his head. "I don't want her in my head. I don't want _her_. Chief, I don't know what's going on but it's..." ..._beginning to scare the crap out of me..._ "...it's as if something's controlling me. Or both of us, maybe."

Sandburg's eyes went wide and he stared up at Ellison. The look in his eyes was sheer wonder. His voice, when he spoke, was soft, almost a whisper. "You're being called home."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ellison was glad Sandburg was no longer angry but the way his emotions could turn on a dime could be disorienting. He had no idea what Sandburg was thinking.

"You're both being called to that temple, man. Alex, too: her dreams, her art. It must be somewhere near here. Jim, do you know what this - "

"Whoa! Slow down there, Einstein. We don't have time for this stuff. We've got a job to do, remember?"

"Yes, but - "

"No buts. Chief, you've got to help me control this thing, whatever it is. I can't do my job like this."

Sandburg spread his hands helplessly. "How?"

"What do you mean, how? This is supposed to be your area!"

Sandburg laughed shakily. "Man, this is so far past my area I can't see daylight. Jim, you're seeing visions. You raised me from the dead! I think we've gone beyond herbal remedies and meditation techniques." His eyes were serious and he took a deep breath. "Jim, I _know_ the stakes here, all right? I haven't forgotten that she's carrying nerve gas. But you've got to accept that there's more going on here. This might be something you _have_ to do, as a sentinel."

*

#### Deep in the Jungle, Next Night

Blair was dreaming again.

He was a wolf, running through the jungle. He splashed through a pool, pushed his way through a thick tangle of leaves and vines and suddenly the temple was there. It was ancient and huge, vine covered walls and a dark entrance above rough-hewn steps. A man stood in the entrance. He was completely nude. Blair-as-wolf watched him walk inside. He bounded up the steps, determined not to let Jim enter alone, but the vines moved, snake-like across the doorway, barring his way. Blair pawed at the vines, trying to find a way through. From within the temple, he heard Jim scream in terror.

"Jim!"

Blair jerked awake with a rush of adrenaline. The jungle around him was dark, but far from silent. The circle of light cast by the fire was their only protection; that and Jim's senses, which could warn them if anything too dangerous came close. Blair looked around for Jim automatically.

Jim wasn't there.

"Jim?" Blair called uncertainly. There was no reason to panic. Maybe Jim heard something and was investigating. Maybe he was taking a piss.

But in his heart, Blair knew that wasn't it. He had seen Jim walk into the temple, alone and unprotected.

He looked over to the place where Jim had slept and saw the dull gleam of Jim's gun. Then Blair understood.

Did Jim leave by choice? Or was he, as Jim had feared, being controlled by some outside force? No, that was ridiculous. Whatever was calling Jim to the temple, it was inherent to Jim. Genetic memory, maybe? Who knew? But if it was part of Jim that meant Jim _did_ have choices. He just had to recognise them.

Blair reached for Jim's gun. The metal was warm in his hand. Blair pushed the button to release the magazine, checked that the chamber was empty and then reloaded the gun. He made sure the safety was on. Jim chose to leave this behind and Blair understood why. It was a message. Blair shot Richard Douglas with this gun. By leaving it behind, Jim was reminding him of that day. He was telling Blair that he needed to go alone, but there was more. He was telling Blair to follow, but only if he was prepared to back him up all the way. The gun showed Blair starkly what his choices were.

Blair was still sitting there, Jim's gun in his lap, when Megan woke hours later. By then, he knew what to do. It was possible that Jim had forgotten Simon. Simon went for help, and when he came back he'd be looking for the GPS transmitter that Blair was still carrying. So they had to be all together when Simon found them. That meant Blair and Megan _had_ to follow Jim.

"He's gone," Blair informed Megan calmly. "I followed his trail a little way, but it just disappears."

"Why would he leave us?"

"I think he's trying to protect us. Alex has the nerve gas." Blair stood, shouldering his pack. "I think the best thing we can do is head in the direction Jim went and hope we find some sign of him."

"But you said the trail disappeared."

Blair shrugged. If he was right and Jim wanted them to follow, there would be a trail. "Do you have a better idea?" he asked, shoving the gun into his jeans pocket.

Megan turned away for a moment, gazing into the jungle. Blair had a moment of sympathy for her: she was completely out of her element and must be scared. But her next words were the last thing Blair expected to hear:

"Sandy, is Jim a sentinel?"

Blair froze.

Megan looked back at him. "I saw your book, _The Sentinels of Paraguay_. Then I started to put it together. All the times I couldn't understand why he knew things, saw things." She picked up her pack. "I'm right, aren't I? And...Alex. Is she one, too?"

Blair stared at her helplessly, struggling to find something - anything - to say. Megan was such a good friend, to them both. He trusted her. Slowly, Blair nodded. "Megan, you can't tell _anyone_."

"Captain Banks knows." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Blair admitted. "I'll tell you what I can as we walk, okay? Let's go."

*

The Sentinels' Temple of Light. It really existed.

For Blair, looking up at the mythical temple, it was a moment to be savoured. The temple was almost exactly the building of his dream - how was that possible? Blair realised it was going to be a very long time before he could come to terms with all this. Dreams that turn out to be true. Some weird mystical connection between Jim and Alex. His own near death experience. It was overwhelming, even to Blair who was raised by Naomi, raised to believe in a world beyond the mundane. What must Jim be thinking about all this?

Blair had only a moment to stare in amazement at the temple, because they had other problems. Serious problems.

In his dream, Blair had been unable to enter the temple. He understood that now. The gun jabbing into his ribs and the sneer on the face of the man holding it - Arguillo's man - made it very clear. Jim followed Alex, Blair followed Jim and now Aguillo, apparently, followed Megan and Blair. Or perhaps he was following Alex. It didn't matter. He was here and whatever was happening inside the temple, Jim would have to handle it without Blair's help. Blair remembered Jim's scream of terror in his dream and found himself praying, _Hold it together, man, just hold it together._

Within the temple, the sentinels would see the Eye of God. It sounded like a promise of power, but what if it wasn't? In a lot of South American cultures to "see God" meant death. A worthy death. Human sacrifice...

Blair stole a glance at Megan. Only her eyes gave away her fear, though what Megan was afraid of was probably a lot more grounded in reality than Blair's fears. The thought reoriented him; made him focus on the present. Megan, like Blair had her hands bound, and a gun pointing at her, but she was outwardly calm. She gave Blair a small nod. The gesture could have meant anything, but it reassured Blair that she was okay.

Now it was all about time. They had to stay alive for a little longer. Jim was probably inside the temple, but there was a good chance he would hear the commotion outside. Simon was out there somewhere and when he found them - when, not if - he would have backup with him. Blair still carried the GPS locator in his pack. So it was all about time.

Where was Jim?

Right on cue, Blair saw a shadow in the temple doorway. It was just a glimpse, but he knew Jim too well not to recognise him at once. Blair tensed, and it was too late. Aguillo saw him, too.

Aguillo ordered another of his men into the temple and Blair risked another glance at Megan, hoping that Jim knew what he was doing, that their seeing him was deliberate.

Aguillo was impatient. He didn't wait for his man, but dragged both Blair and Megan up to the temple. He was scared, Blair realised. It was a revelation. This was meant to be a simple business deal for Aguillo. Instead he was deep in the jungle chasing a woman who had murdered his usual contact and was now carrying the nerve gas Aguillo wanted. Yeah, Aguillo was having a very bad day.

Megan pretended to stumble on the uneven steps, falling against Blair's body. "Did you see Jim?" she muttered.

Blair had no time to answer, but nodded quickly as Aguillo dragged her upright.

As they passed into the temple, everything fell quiet. It was as if nothing from the encroaching jungle could enter the temple, not even light.

Blair's observations were cut short when Aguillo once again jabbed the gun into his back. A hand on his shoulder roughly ordered him onto his knees. Blair obeyed.

Aguillo yelled, "Show yourself, you coward!" and the sound didn't echo, it was absorbed by the darkness of the temple. Aguillo's shout made Blair glance again at Megan. Her eyes reflected his worry: the bad guy with the gun was losing it, fast. That was never a good sign.

It didn't help that Blair couldn't see a damned thing. He knew Jim was around somewhere, but where? What was taking him so long?

Blair heard a soft grunt, and then a metallic clatter on the stone floor. He twisted around, trying to see.

"You all right, Chief?"

_ Shit, man, I've never been so happy to hear your voice!_ Blair tried to stand up but was stopped by Jim unbinding his hands. Blair waited and the ache in his shoulders eased when his hands were freed. "I'm all right, Jim," he confirmed, standing while Jim moved to help Megan. "Is Alex around here somewhere?" Blair asked.

Jim stared at him. "Alex." He took off at a run and vanished into the darkness.

_ I guess that means yes._ Blair wanted to run after Jim but he waited to take care of Megan, helping her up. "You okay?"

"I'm good." She bent to pick up Aguillo's gun. "I'm right behind you, Sandy. Let's find them."

Blair ran.

There was no time to appreciate this incredible place. No time to read the inscriptions or notice the carving. No time to do anything but run into the dark.

He reached the chamber and had a moment to take it in. Understanding burst on him and what he saw - the pyramid structure, the deep pools of water - clicked into place with the legends. Then he saw Jim and Alex. She had the VX canister in her hands and was playing with the top. Blair froze.

Jim was speaking to her but Blair couldn't hear the words. At Blair's side, Megan started to raise the gun. Blair stopped her. Jim was doing okay, he was trying to get her to put the canister down. That was good.

Alex's hands moved as if to open the canister and Blair held his breath. If Alex was threatened she was just crazy enough to kill them all.

Then he saw Jim kiss her.

*

"The second time she went into the grotto, it must have been too much for her," Blair concluded, explaining what happened to Simon while they both watched the medics load Alex into the medevac helicopter. Such a waste of her gift...

"She fried her circuits," Megan put in. There was an almost mischievous look on her face as she added, to Simon, "It put her sentinel senses on overload."

On any other day, Blair would have enjoyed that moment. The look on Simon's face the instant before he got himself under control was priceless. But not today. Not after everything that happened. Mumbling an agreement with Megan's statement, he walked away from them both.

Jim was sitting at the bottom of the temple steps, gazing up into the darkened doorway. There were so many things to say that the words died on Blair's lips. Jim looked the way he looked on all those sleepless nights in Cascade. As if it was all just too much for him. He hadn't said a word since they left the grotto, Jim carrying Alex's motionless body. He barely even acknowledged Simon's presence.

"Are you okay?" Blair asked him quietly.

"Not even close."

Blair touched Jim's shoulder. It was meant to be comforting, but Jim jerked away as if the touch burned him. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me, for fuck's sake!"

The violence of Jim's reaction was shocking. "Jim, what's wrong?"

"Just don't touch me!" He stalked away a few paces.

Blair watched him go, muttering under his breath, "I love you, too, man."

Jim heard him. He spun around, his expression softening. "Chief, I've got my senses dialled down as much as I can, and it's like they're on overdrive. It's too much. I can hear...feel... I think I'm going crazy."

_Like Alex._ It was unspoken, but clear. Blair moved a step closer but carefully did not reach out for him. "What happened in the temple?" he asked nervously.

Jim's eyes turned to him and Blair read a complex of emotions there. It was as if he'd asked Jim to think too hard. Jim seemed to be trying to communicate with his eyes, as if words were no good. With sudden insight, Blair said, "I don't mean with Alex, Jim. What happened to _you_?"

Jim's expression cleared a little. "She made me drink...something...only once. I don't know how much she took herself..."

"Too much," Blair answered. "This place is meant for sentinels to explore their powers. I guess she...failed the test."

Jim sighed. "You know, when I got out of that grotto, I realised I had it all laid out right in front of me. All the answers. I just wanted to go back in there so bad. I mean, just..."

"But you didn't go back."

"No."

"See, that's the difference between you two. She lost her way." He looked back at Simon and Megan. "We've got to get out of here, man. Are you going to be able to ride the helicopter? I mean, it'll be loud and you - "

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, Chief. I don't know."

*

The helicopter ride was a nightmare, but Ellison made it.

By the time they landed, Ellison was in so much pain from the noise that Simon sent him to the hotel, leaving he and Megan to "do the cop thing". It was a relief. In the hotel, Ellison stripped off his clothing rapidly and headed into the shower, telling Blair to call room service if he wanted to.

Even clothing hurt his skin. Ellison showered for well over an hour. By the time he was done, he was feeling more in control of his senses. A long way from back-to-normal, but better. He looked at the white towels waiting on the rail, but remembered the feel of cloth against his skin and decided against it. He walked out of the bathroom nude and still dripping water.

Sandburg looked up from his notebook as Ellison walked in. He was lying on his stomach across the bottom of the bed, chewing on a pen. His eyes widened when he saw Ellison. "Are we out of towels?" he asked, but the tone was teasing.

"Have you heard from Simon?" Ellison asked, ignoring the question.

Sandburg took the pen out of his mouth, closed the notebook and sat up. "Yeah. They've got Alex in the hospital under local police guard. Simon contacted the US embassy and he says she's their problem for now."

Ellison nodded. "We can't arrest a person who's not conscious. They'll move her to the US under protective custody. If she ever wakes up, she'll face charges."

"That's what Simon said. He and Megan are leaving on this evening's flight back to Cascade. Simon booked us on a flight tomorrow. Is that all right? I thought it would give us time to work on your senses."

Ellison nodded. "That's fine." The carpet around his feet was getting wet. He moved a step further into the room.

"How are your senses?" Sandburg pressed. "You spent so long in the shower I thought you'd melted like the wicked witch of the west."

Ellison managed a grin. "I'm still..." he hesitated, "the only word that seems right is _high_. My eyesight is okay and I'm not being deafened by cockroaches any more, but my skin is...it's like the air is full of grit, you know? And you don't want to know what I can smell or taste."

Sandburg came toward him. "It's possible you've reached a new plateau. You know, like a power boost. That's happened to you before."

_ I might have to live like this?_ Ellison's horror at the thought must have shown on his face because Sandburg gave him a reassuring look. "Or it could be more like the time you went blind for a while. An overload that you've just got to ride through. You'll get it under control, man. You always do." He smiled. "Want me to help you relax?"

"Sounds good," Ellison agreed. He expected an instruction to breathe deeply: Sandburg's usual prelude to his relaxation exercises, but instead Sandburg began to strip off his shirt.

Ellison stopped him quickly. "That isn't what I had in mind, Chief. My senses..."

Sandburg shook his head slightly. "I wasn't going there, man. Listen, you walked out of the shower dripping wet, no towel. So you don't want anything touching your skin. Am I right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna help, man, but to do that I need to touch you. Just touch, man, not sex. So I'm taking off my clothes. Okay?"

"I guess," Ellison answered uncertainly. _Just touch, man, not sex_. He wasn't at all sure he could look at Sandburg's nude body and not have it be sexual. A few seconds later, Ellison _knew_ he couldn't. Nude, he couldn't hide his body's reaction, either. Sex meant touch, rubbing, heat...with Ellison's sense of touch as high as it was, he didn't think that would be pleasant. Looking...that was pleasant. "I'm all yours, Chief."

*

Blair saw Jim's partial erection and let his appreciation show in his eyes, but only in his eyes. Jim needed help, which meant slow. "How bad is it?" he asked. "Can you sit down?"

"Yeah," Jim answered, but it was said with a grimace and Blair knew that even sitting wouldn't be comfortable for Jim at first. All his senses were spiking at once - no wonder he reacted badly back at the temple.

What Blair needed to do was get Jim to focus his senses on something other than pain and discomfort. Jim was scared of his senses right now - no surprise after what they both saw happen to Alex - so his control was slipping. But on a good day Jim's control over his senses was absolute, so Blair knew Jim could fix this himself. He only had to let go of the fear.

The problem being, Blair couldn't explain this to Jim. He'd learned his lesson. Never, ever imply that Jim is afraid of anything. _Especially_ not when it's true.

Blair looked at Jim. He was sitting on the end of the bed. Water from the shower plastered his short hair close to his head, and ran down his neck and chest in small, clinging rivulets. It had been so long since Blair allowed himself to touch Jim. Blair was...starving. He wanted to touch that perfect body all over. He wanted to lick him dry. For a long moment, all he did was look.

Finally, Blair said, "Jim, I'm not going to ask you to dial back your senses. You've already tried that. Instead, I want you to relax into what you're sensing, and the best way I know to do that is to make what you can feel something nice. Like the night we took a shower together. Remember?"

"I passed out that night," Jim reminded him.

"I won't let it go that far. Trust me?"

"I trust you."

Blair reached up with his hands, resting his fingertips on Jim's collarbone. He could feel Jim's tension, but knew it wasn't all from fear. Jim wanted to be touched.

He spread his fingers wide and drew his hands slowly downwards, using the lightest touch possible so the pads of his fingertips floated on Jim's skin. Down across the pectoral muscles. It made Blair's skin tingle, his body heat. He did nothing to hide it.

His fingertips reached Jim's nipples. Blair was looking into Jim's eyes and saw them close as he reached the softer skin. Jim made a small sound.

"Feel good?" Blair whispered.

"Mm-hmm." Jim gave a small smile. His eyes were still closed.

"That's good, but don't concentrate too hard. I don't want you to zone." Blair circled Jim's nipples. Jim took a sharp breath. Blair leaned forward and let his hair brush Jim's chest.

Until that moment, Jim had been passive, allowing Blair to touch him but doing nothing to encourage him. At the first touch of hair, Jim's hand came up and grasped a chunk of Blair's curls. He pulled firmly, forcing Blair's head up.

It hurt, a little, but Blair felt his body react. His eyes went wide as Jim brought his face close. Jim's eyes were open now, startlingly blue. The emotion that filled his eyes was so intense Blair almost pulled back. It wasn't love. It wasn't even lust.

It was hunger.

All thought of going slow vanished from Blair's mind. There were so many logical reasons to slow this down. They'd been fighting so much lately, and though they'd both put that behind them there were real issues at the heart of their conflict. There was a conversation they badly needed to have, about Alex and about Andrew; about trust and about how much they were both willing to sacrifice for this friendship...for this love.

There were many things Blair could have said.

_ I love you._

_ Wait, Jim, we need to talk._

Or even just a simple _Yes._

The hunger in Jim's eyes robbed him of all words. Of everything but the answering hunger in his own body. Blair hadn't known it was there until Jim awakened it, but now, it was a need that _must_ be sated. Now.

No...that wasn't right. He'd known it was there. Blair wanted Jim since the first time they kissed. He had simply repressed it, shoved the feelings deep inside himself and refused to admit to them. Now, with a touch and a look, Jim stripped him bare of the pretence.

There could be no more words.

Blair answered in the only way he could. He moved, just a little, lifting his face to kiss Jim. With Jim holding his hair, he couldn't quite reach, but the movement was enough.

Jim lifted him closer, but it wasn't exactly a kiss. Jim ate at Blair's mouth, the power of his hunger too much for gentleness. It almost cut Blair's lip against his teeth, but Blair matched him bruise for bruise. He forgot that Jim's skin was sensitive and gripped Jim's biceps, gripped hard enough to leave marks and using the leverage to stand. The movement pulled them apart and Blair stared into Jim's face.

"You want this?" he demanded. The words came out as a growl.

"Yes!"

Blair pushed Jim back onto the bed. Jim's smile was full of heat. Blair straddled Jim's legs and with no further preliminaries he took Jim's cock into his hand. He stroked firmly, rubbing his thumb over the head. Jim arched his back, his head tossing from side to side, whispering something over and over. Blair's hand on Jim's cock was sure and confident; Jim didn't last long. He came, hot gushes over Blair's hand and chest. Blair allowed him no recovery time but used Jim's come to lubricate his cock. He was so turned on that even that brief touch almost finished him.

"Turn over," Blair ordered.

Jim's eyes flew open with surprise. For a moment, Blair thought he might refuse. Then Jim raised himself up and rolled onto his stomach. The hesitation, brief as it was, reminded Blair that the sex act, especially if so hurried, could bring up some unpleasant memories for Jim. But Jim wanted this. The hunger in his eyes left no doubt.

Blair ran a hand over Jim's buttocks and slid a finger into his crack. "Are you ready?" He pushed a finger inside Jim, just a little, enough to give a taste.

There was no answer in words, but Jim pushing back, drawing Blair deeper inside him was answer enough. Blair adjusted his position quickly and pushed his way inside. Oh, Jim was ready! And it was everything Blair needed. Jim groaned as Blair sank into him, but it wasn't a sound of pain. On the next breath Jim whispered, "Blair, oh, Blair."

His name on Jim's lips was Blair's undoing. He held Jim close, loving him. Jim was perfect. Blair felt the slow rippling of Jim's muscles as his body moved beneath Blair. Sweat gathered in the depression in the nape of Jim's neck. How had Blair lived without this for so long? He bent his head to taste Jim's sweat. The salt exploded on his tongue and Blair felt his climax building. Too soon, too quick, but he couldn't hold back. While he was still able to speak he whispered against Jim's skin, "I love you, man."

And then there was no more room for speech or thought or for anything but the taste of Jim on his tongue and the tightness of Jim surrounding him and the sound of Jim's pleasure as Blair fell, fell into orgasm and into love.

*

They made love again, slowly, savouring every kiss, every touch. It was more, Ellison thought, than finally ending six months of celibacy. It was being with Blair.

Ellison was not a believer in romance. His youthful affairs had been shallow things, conducted under his father's shadow. When he finally left home the army became his mistress. There were, as he told Sandburg, a small number of men in his life in those days - rushed encounters in the showers, one affair that lasted almost half a year - but Ellison never thought of himself as "gay". His partners were men because there were no women around. It was as simple as that.

Then came his tour of duty in Peru, and his whole existence changed. After his whirlwind affair with Lila and his return to Cascade, Ellison figured it was time for him to settle down. A new career with Cascade PD and a new life seemed to lead naturally to marriage. But his marriage simply didn't work. Only now, with Blair Sandburg sleeping in his arms, did Ellison finally understand. What he was, what he needed. Blair.

He didn't know if Sandburg felt the same way. Ellison had watched the younger man fall in and out of love too many times to trust completely in Sandburg's feelings of the moment. He had to acknowledge that he, Jim, might be just another station in Sandburg's train wreck of a love life. But with Sandburg in his arms he knew it didn't matter. This was a gift; Ellison would accept it and love him, whether it was a few weeks or forever.

Sandburg stirred in his arms and looked up at him. He smiled. "D'you want to call room service?" he asked sleepily.

Ellison smiled back. "Hungry?"

"A bit."

Ellison shifted onto his side so he could look down at Sandburg. He was sprawled on his back, his curls delightfully tangled, one arm hooked behind his head like a pillow.

"I want to ask you something, Chief."

Sandburg scratched his chest. "Sure."

Ellison hesitated. "This isn't...it might sound like an accusation, but it's not, okay? I just want to know."

Sandburg frowned. "You can ask me anything, man. What's on your mind?"

"Have you been tested for HIV? I mean, ever?"

Sandburg closed his eyes, apparently struggling to keep his expression straight. For a long time he didn't answer and Ellison gave him the time.

Finally, Sandburg's eyes opened and he looked up at Ellison. He seemed almost relieved. "I promised myself I wouldn't tell you unless you asked."

"Well, I'm asking."

Sandburg sat up in the bed. "Jim, when you were...hurt...you probably don't remember but there was a lot of blood in that basement. When we got to the hospital there was a lot of blood on me. A _lot_. I think most of it was yours, but not all of it." He reached out to Ellison. "Jim, the bottom line is I was just as much at risk as you were. I would have been an idiot not to get tested."

Ellison couldn't believe it. "You never told me. When, Chief?"

"Same day the trial started. I figured if I was stressed you'd think it was down to the case. I'm clean."

Of course he was clean. That wasn't the point. "You went through all that and you never mentioned it. Sandburg, that's crazy."

"No, man, crazy would have been giving you something else to stress over when you were already near the end of your rope."

He frowned, thinking back. _I should have known._ "Blair, don't keep secrets like that. Not from me." Ellison knew he couldn't have handled his own week-long wait without Sandburg's support. It was the first - perhaps the only - time he admitted to himself that he _needed_ Sandburg in his life. Realising that Sandburg _chose_ to go through that agony alone was confusing as hell. Was Sandburg trying to protect him, or did he not trust Ellison?

_ Stop it. He thought he was doing the right thing. _ Ellison leaned down and kissed Sandburg. "No more secrets. Deal?"

"Deal," Sandburg agreed.

"Room service, then? Or shall we go out to eat? Do you think they have a Wonderburger around here?"


	13. Epilogue: Back In Cascade

In the hallway outside the loft, Ellison pushed Sandburg up against the wall, trapping him there with his body. They were finally home. They'd gone to the PD straight from the airport. Ellison wrote up his report, rushing through it as quickly as he could, then told Simon he was taking the weekend off and got them the hell out of there.

Ellison held several days worth of accumulated mail in one hand. With the other he cupped Sandburg's cheek, feeling the rough texture of his five o'clock shadow. He kissed him deeply, taking his time. Only when he was satisfied did he reach for his keys and open the loft door.

The apartment was bare. As insane as the last few days had been, Ellison had forgotten. Forgotten that he'd kicked Sandburg out of their home. Forgotten that in the madness or obsession that gripped him in his last few days in Cascade, he even emptied the apartment of furniture and decoration.

The same memories were crashing down on Sandburg: it showed in his face.

Ellison forced a smile. "Well, at least we weren't robbed."

Sandburg gave him a look that was halfway between exasperation and a vain attempt to suppress hysterical laughter. "Is there food in the refrigerator?"

"Eggs, milk, ham. I think."

"Did you keep your bed?"

Ellison saw where he was going and answered with a grin. "Yeah."

"No problem then. Food. Bed. Then tomorrow you're going to help me move my stuff back in."

"Works for me," Ellison agreed easily. He sifted through the mail just in case there was something important, tossing each envelope on the kitchen worktop. "This one's for you, Chief." Ellison pushed a padded envelope toward Sandburg.

Sandburg was reaching for the frying pan. "Open it for me?"

Ellison shrugged. "Okay." Checking the packet with his senses was automatic, but there was nothing dangerous inside. He glanced at the writing but didn't recognise it. The return address was Los Angeles. He opened the packet and a video tape slid out. Ellison picked it up and took in the cover with a glance. It left very little to the imagination. "Have you been ordering porn, Chief?" he asked, half teasing, half curious.

Sandburg dropped the frying pan with a loud clatter. He stared at Ellison. "Porn?!"

Wordlessly, Ellison held up the tape so Sandburg could see the cover.

Sandburg flushed. "I'm gonna kill him," he said under his breath. He picked up the frying pan.

"Who?" Ellison thought he knew the answer.

"Andrew," Sandburg said. Then he looked up with an odd expression. "Is there a card, man?"

Ellison looked. There was no card, but a letter was stuck at the bottom of the envelope. He fished it out and handed it to Sandburg.

"Thanks."

Ellison had a hundred questions but the look on his friend's face as he read stopped him. It seemed like a private moment so he went to the refrigerator and began to gather up what food there was. He didn't look at Sandburg but, listening, heard a hitch in his breath.

"Jim," Sandburg's voice broke the silence.

"Yeah, Chief."

"I think you should read this."

"It's none of my business."

"In a way, it is." Sandburg held out the letter insistently.

Reluctantly, Ellison took it.

> _Blair, _
> 
> _I wanted to say goodbye in person but it looks like you won't be home in time. I think by the time you read this I'll be back in LA. Carl is coming with me. I don't know if General Hospital will take me back but if they won't I don't think I'll be out of work for long. I'll be able to support both of us. _
> 
> _You weren't wrong about Carl, or me. I'm hopeful there will be time to set things right for us. At least I can be around for him and make sure he looks after himself for a change. He needs to start looking after himself._
> 
> _Take some advice from me, Blair: work things out with your cop. Don't get scared off. You'll regret it. I know I do. _
> 
> _That's it. My parting pearl of wisdom._
> 
> _Enjoy the film, babe. It stinks, but hell, it pays the rent!_
> 
> _Best, _
> 
> _Andrew H._

And then, in different handwriting:

> _I owe you one, Sandburg. You'd better call if you're ever in LA. C._

Ellison read it through twice to be sure he understood. He went to Sandburg and hugged him from behind. He said nothing, because he wasn't completely sure, but the hints seemed strong enough.

Sandburg leaned back against him.

"Are you okay, Chief?"

"Just counting my blessings."

"Reading between the lines, it sounds like Carl tested positive," Ellison said quietly.

"Yeah, that's how I read it, too."

"At least we got the man responsible. I know it's not much comfort, but it's something."

"Yeah, it's something," Sandburg repeated dully. He turned around in Ellison's arms and there was something new in his eyes: the beginning of hope. "No, man, it's _everything_. It's justice."

Ellison nodded. "You know, Chief," he said, trying for a lighter mood, "I think you're finally getting it." He ducked Sandburg's mock-punch. "But I still want to know," he added, "why Andrew is sending you porn films."

"Oh!" Sandburg looked embarrassed. "Um. Well, you see..."

Ellison laughed. "You're gorgeous when you're flustered."

"Yeah?" Sandburg returned with a teasing grin. "Wanna watch a movie?"

"We'll dig the TV out of the basement later, Chief. Let's eat."


End file.
